


Half Moon

by JBankai89



Series: Lunaticus [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe, Creature Fic, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Gore, M/M, Pack Hierarchy, Racism, Romance, Sexual Assault, Slow Build, Violence, Werewolves, dom/sub elements, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 155,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has finally gotten the normal life he's always wanted. He and Ginny have been together for two years, he has a job he loves, and life is finally going right. But when he protects Remus Lupin from an attack by an Anti-Werewolf group, he inadvertently lays claim on Remus in a werewolf mating bond. What will this mean for Harry? Will there be a way to break it, or will he be forced to accept Remus into his life in more intimate ways than he ever expected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Claim

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was having trouble finding Harrimus fics that met my persnickety fanfiction criteriae, and I basically just went “screw it, I'll write my own” and this happened. As far as AU goes, Remus&Tonks didn't happen, so no Teddy, and among the dead he's the only one I revived. Age wise this is set 3 years after the war, so Harry is 21(assuming I know how to math). 
> 
> Because it's not really covered in the plot, for the first year following the war Harry and Ginny did not date, and they only started going out seriously a year later, in case anyone gets confused by the timeline of '3 years after the war, but Ginny&Harry have only dated for 2', so there you go.
> 
> Werewolf lore is partially canon to the HP 'verse, but I also threw in some elements that were entirely made up, inspired by Buffy, Supernatural, as well as traditional werewolf lore. For now I'll be updating once a week, as I only have part of the final draft of this story completed. I'll be updating more frequently once I have more finished. Since this is my first fic for this ship, comments and concrit would be greatly appreciated.

“ _We humans fear the beast within the wolf because we do not understand the beast within ourselves.”_

_-Gerald Hausman_

 

Chapter 1 – Claim

 

The sleepy silence of Grimmauld Place was no longer unsettling and foreboding, but tranquil and comforting. The dark and dank of the house was no more, and in its place stood a house that teetered close to derelict on the outside, but the inside was warm and welcoming, and no longer a haven for Purebloods and Death Eaters.

The shrieking portrait of Sirius's late mother was gone, as was the family tree tapestry, the house elf heads, and every dark artifact the house still held. Warm tones replaced the black on black, and its décor was strongly reminiscent of The Burrow. It was a house of warmth, family, and most importantly, of peace.

In the master bedroom, the peaceful sleep of the couple that occupied it was broken rather suddenly by the ancient house elf bursting into their room with a loud _bang._ The door burst open loudly, and the brass knob bounced off the wall from the force of his entry, freshly laundered robes and muggle clothing overflowing in his thin arms.

“Up, up, up, Master Harry!” Kreacher cried, dropping the mound at the end of the bed and clicking his fingers once to put everything away in one swift motion, “Kreacher has breakfast ready for yourself and Mistress Ginny when you is ready to receive it!” The elf bustled out of the room just as quickly as he had come, never mind that Harry hadn't even sat up yet. With a groan, he pulled himself up and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand. Next to him Ginny stirred, pawing absently at the ground for her clothes, the duvet just barely clinging to her naked form.

“How many times have I told him to just call me Ginny?” she grumbled, tugging on a tight _Holyhead Harpies_ T-shirt and sinfully short shorts. Harry's eyes fell at once to her barely-concealed bottom and quirked an eyebrow, and she smirked knowingly. Harry swore she wore those clothes _just_ to make him stare. Not that he minded, but it did make his job as a Trainee Auror rather difficult when his thoughts would routinely flit back to his girlfriend in varying states of undress. To her question, he snickered and donned a smirk of his own.

“At least a hundred,” he slipped out of the bed and wandered over to the wardrobe, unconcerned of his naked form, while Ginny's eyes followed his every move. “I'm sure you'll have to tell him at least hundred more times before he gets it.” Ginny crossed her arms, but looked more amused than annoyed by the comment.

“Or _you_ could just order him to call me just Ginny.”

“I could,” Harry laughed, tugging on a T-shirt as he went, “but it's much more fun to watch him get on your nerves.”

“You're a terrible human being, Harry Potter.”

 

Downstairs following a quick shower, Kreacher piled his and Ginny's plates high with more food than they could reasonably consume in three sittings. At times like these, the elf reminded Harry of a tiny, cantankerous version of Mrs Weasley. After serving them, he handed Harry a copy of the _Daily Prophet._ “Thanks Kreacher,” he smiled slightly as the elf bowed and disappeared with a _crack._ Ginny wandered into the dining room not long after, her hair still damp from her morning shower.

His eyes flitted up and down her form at once. How could he _not_ look? They'd been dating exclusively for nearly two years, and her budding Quidditch career had made her fill out in all sorts of delightful ways. It also helped that she would pick clothing that showed her body off much more than her mother approved of, giving Harry plenty of opportunity to ogle. She caught him looking and smirked devilishly, sitting down at his side and starting on her breakfast while he unfolded the paper.

“D'you have Quidditch practice today?” Harry asked, breaking the near silence, save for the soft clink of their cutlery and the rustle of the newspaper.

“Yeah, but I should finish early. It's one of the last ones before the season starts. Why?”

“Ron and Hermione wanted to go out tonight after work. I dunno if it's a dinner or a pub crawl, Ron wasn't specific. Wanna come along?”

“Sure, I should be done in plenty of time. Not sure about _you_ though, all those extra calls.” Harry groaned at the comment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He refocused his attention on her and pushed the paper aside.

“Don't jinx it, Ginny. I was hoping by now people would've learned to be a little more accepting of other—people, but obviously I'm too much of an optimist.” He stabbed sullenly at a fried egg, the yolk bursting and bleeding yellow all over his toast.

“People have always been like that with werewolves, Harry,” she said gently, resting a hand on his arm and squeezing it once before returning to her food. “It'll take time, but they'll get there. In the meantime, the werewolf population has Superhero Potter on their side to protect them from the mad fringe groups,” she grinned, and Harry snorted.

“ _Please_ never call me that again. I'm not even a proper Auror yet.” He sopped up the yellowed toast and stuffed it in his mouth, chasing it down with some pumpkin juice. “And I'm sure the werewolves wouldn't be thrilled if they heard you phrase it like that. It's not like they're helpless.”

“No,” Ginny nodded in agreement, “but there's only so much they can do, you know. And your openness about your friendship with werewolves definitely helps you seem more genuine than some of the other more _qualified_ Aurors.” Ginny's voice sneered at the word. Harry couldn't blame her, as there had been more than a few Aurors who had pointedly ignored complaints of harassment or outright violence due to their own prejudices. Because of that, he and Ron had followed up on most of the complaints made to their office by the werewolf community over the past several weeks.

He grimaced a little at her mention of werewolf friendships—he hadn't seen Remus Lupin since the war, even following all the new positive legislation. Harry had tried sending him a few letters, but it was as though the man had dropped off the face of the earth. Harry was fairly certain his letters had reached him, but he had never received a reply.

Following the reformation of the Ministry, pro-werewolf legislation had been one of Kingsley's top priorities. Given that so many people—many of them children—had been turned during Voldemort's reign of terror, it only made sense for them to have more protection and liberties, and of course marginalizing an entire species for the actions of a few was just _wrong._

Harry was thrilled with the changes, though not everyone was as accepting as he and his friends were. More than a few anti-werewolf groups had surfaced, and werewolf murders had skyrocketed. Harry did his best, but it was like trying to fix a broken dam with spellotape. Many werewolf packs had spoken out in favour of his actions, but some others still were reluctant to trust any wizard, even Harry Potter. Harry didn't care, his _saving people thing_ was finally being put to good use, and he would put himself between the werewolves and every other wizard on the planet if he had to.

“We'll see. I'm hoping it won't be _too_ crazy today.” He spoke thickly around a mouthful of egg, while she pointedly ate much more politely than she normally would have done. Harry ignored the hint.

“So planning on nearly getting killed only three times today instead of five?” She grinned, while he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You're hilarious.”

 

~*~

 

Despite being roused at an ungodly hour by Kreacher, Harry still barely managed to get in on time. He skidded to a halt just outside his office and strode in, straightening his blue-grey robes as he went. His supervisor, Auror Caldwell, looked up as he entered and nodded once as he took a seat across from her.

“Potter, morning.” She pushed a terrifying stack of folders towards him. “Take these, start filling out the missing information on these cases, and make note of any mistakes in the original filing.” She hardly looked up as she spoke, her eyes focused on the task before her. Harry bit back a groan.

“No field work today?” Harry asked hopefully as he lifted the stack and carried it to his own desk.

“Not that I'm aware of. Get started on those, if you finish early I'll let you off for the remainder of the day—with pay.” Smirking slightly at the incentive, he plopped down and got to work.

 

It was dull work that reminded Harry vividly of more than a few detentions he'd endured while at Hogwarts. After a while, the reports all began to look the same, and he could no longer pick one out of the din. Fixing spelling mistakes, making notes where there had been a procedural error, sorting out the active cases from the cold cases in the jumbled mess. At noon, Auror Caldwell shoved a strong coffee into his hands and Harry mumbled his thanks. The drink perked him up enough to continue with his work and keep him from falling asleep, but unfortunately made it no more exciting.

The day dragged by, much more than it had in weeks. Harry had grown rather used to running all over, chasing down dark wizards and breaking curses that would've made Bill Weasley proud. Desk duty was painfully boring, and even after calling Kreacher with half a dozen bacon sandwiches, he still felt as though his brain had been replaced with cotton. It took a great deal of effort to act like something resembling an adult and not cheer when the end of the workday arrived.

 

Harry slouched to the lift, and jabbed the button for the Atrium. He shook his head a few times to clear it, and by the time he'd reached the crowded floor he felt more or less awake again. He ignored the looks he got as he walked, now more than just because he was Harry-Savior-Of-The-Wizarding-World-Potter. He had made no secret about his political leanings regarding Kingsley's recent werewolf legislation, and it had made him no short list of enemies. Harry's hand rested casually on the handle of his wand as he walked, his eyes flitting over the crowd in case he suddenly needed to defend himself. Though these were technically times of peace, he'd rather be paranoid than dead. _Constant vigilance,_ as Mad-Eye always said. Harry stopped by the recently rebuilt fountain and leaned against the leg of the stone wizard, the spot where he had agreed to meet Ron and Hermione.

He gazed over the crowd of witches and wizards making their way to the Floo and Apparition Spots, this time looking for a lollygagging ginger or frizzy brown hair. Instead what he spotted was someone he hadn't expected to. “Remus!” He called, the older man had been walking past him without so much as an upward glance, and stopped short at the call of his name. Harry hurried over, and he did not fail to notice the way the man's entire body relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Harry,” he smiled, the placid tone of voice and calm smile the same as it had always been. He reached out and clasped Harry's hand in his briefly, before releasing it. “It's been a long time, how are you?”

“I'm fine, been busy.” He cocked a brow, and Remus nodded his head once, catching the hint.

“Yes, I've seen your name in the _Prophet_ fairly often over the last six months. It's nice to see them reporting facts, for a change.”

“More like miraculous,” Remus laughed. Harry smiled and shrugged, turning to look over the crowd again as he spoke. “I'm doing what I can, I don't want to interfere in the politics, I just want to keep people safe.” He smiled weakly, and Remus nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. It was tricky territory, and Harry had always been cautious of overstepping his bounds when it came to the werewolf community. “Er, I tried to send you some letters after—after everything, but you never replied.” Though Harry had aimed for a relaxed tone, a guilty look still crossed Remus's features.

“I've been underground, so to speak. Don't take it personally—I haven't been in contact with anyone; but I've been well. It's been peaceful, in its own way.” Remus's neutral tone did not betray whether or not he felt guilty about being so cut off from the world. Harry understood, meaning Remus, like so many others of his kind, had gone into hiding. Harry couldn't blame him, though Harry still hated that he had to at all. It was a dangerous time to be a werewolf, and in some ways it probably felt as though the war had never ended.

“That's good to hear, Remus. You deserve some peace after everything—” his words were cut off as he heard his friends' approach.

“Harry, there you are!” Harry turned and saw Hermione, Ron, and Ginny heading toward him. Hermione's gaze flicked to Remus, and her face broke out into a smile. “Professor Lupin, what a surprise! It's been a long time.”

“Please Hermione, I'm hardly your professor anymore,” she bowed her head as a flush crept up her cheeks, while Harry and Ron exchanged an amused grin. “But yes, it's good to see that you're all doing well.”

“And yourself? What have you been doing Remus?” Hermione had clearly tried to make her tone light, but at once it was as though a dark cloud had passed over the group. Silence followed her words, and Remus's smile had become rather fixed. Hermione seemed to realize the tactlessness of her words at the last moment, and opened her mouth in a panic. “Oh, Remus, I'm sorry I didn't—”

“—It's quite all right,” the calm tone of his voice now sounded rather forced. “I am well, all things considered. Thank you.” Hermione frowned, looking as though she wanted to apologize again, while to Harry it seemed that the man was looking for an exit from their increasingly tense conversation.

“Er—well we best get going Remus,” Harry said in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness of the moment, but in that same instance, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

A nondescript man, brown hair, brown eyes, average height, patchy beard. The type of person one may pass on the street and not give a second glance to. His wand had been raised, his eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry recognized the thin red crescent that adorned the front of his robes. He didn't think, and on instinct alone he threw himself in front of Remus and drew his wand.

Distantly he could hear screaming, as well as Hermione's voice crying shrilly, “Harry, _no!_ ” but he was in his element, and his focus was entirely on the man barrelling towards them.

“ _Avada—_ ” The man began, his eyes blazing with hatred.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ” Thin ropes sprang from Harry's wand at once, binding the man from head to foot. He released a strangled yelp of shock, and fell heavily to the ground. Harry hurried forward and turned him onto his back with the tip of his shoe. Harry glared down at the man, who glared right back. “Another Red Moon grunt? I hope you like Azkaban, drawing a wand on a Ministry official _and_ attempting to use an Unforgivable? You won't be seeing daylight for a _very_ long time.”

Two fully qualified Aurors hurried forward and took away the man, both of them eyeing Harry very strangely. It reminded him to the looks his classmates had given him following the disaster at the Duelling Club in his second year. It made him uneasy, though he tried to brush it off as he turned back to his friends. None of them were smiling. Harry's gaze shifted to Remus, expecting to see gratitude, relief, anything but what he saw on the man's face.

Remus's eyes were glazed over, red-rimmed, and bloodshot. He stared at Harry with a strange look, an anger almost beyond rage, but it was paired with a look of longing. Startled, Harry took a step back, but the slight movement seemed to jar Remus from his daze, and he took off towards the nearest Floo and disappeared without a backward glance.

“What was _that_ about?” He turned to Hermione, and she looked frightened. Ron and Ginny shared looks of unease and fear, though Harry couldn't place why. Why did some no-name grunt make them look like somebody had _died_? “What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Come on Harry, quickly,” Hermione hissed as she grabbed his arm, and when he did not immediately move, Ginny grabbed his other arm and they steered Harry towards the Floo. Harry was distinctly aware that the Atrium had gone dead silent, and nearly everyone that had remained were staring at him with wide eyes. _What's going on?_ Harry wondered, but he had little time to contemplate it before Hermione threw a handful of glittering powder into the grate and cried out, “The Leaky Cauldron!” The pair shoved him forward, and the Ministry Atrium disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

 

~*~

 

Harry barely cleared the fire grate in the pub before he was pinned to the stone by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They untangled themselves from one another and stood, brushing off their robes, and Harry spun to face the others, who were still wearing matching expressions of fright. “Okay, wanna tell me what the hell is going _on_?”

“C'mon mate, you're gonna want to sit down,” Ron steered him to the back of the pub, and forcefully pushed him down onto one of the chairs. Hermione and Ginny followed, she taking one of his hands and squeezed it gently. Hermione signed at Tom, and a round of Firewhisky appeared on their table with a soft _pop_. Harry knocked back the drink at once, and a second later a nearly-full bottle appeared between them on the tabletop.

“Okay, enough. Why the hell is everyone freaking out about me defending Remus?” Ginny's hand squeezed his tighter, while Ron and Hermione exchanged another fearful look.

“Harry...how much do you remember from when Snape taught us about werewolves in third year?” Hermione's voice was small and timid, and she exchanged a significant look with Ron, though Harry was still at sea.

“That I was supposed to turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four, I dunno. Why? What's all this about?”

“Because...because...Harry, it's the half-moon tonight.” Hermione spoke to Harry as though she was telling him he had some terminal illness.

“So? What has that got to do with anything? It's not like it's the _full_ moon.”

“Harry, the half-moon is the only time a werewolf can mate,” the words tumbled out of Hermione in a rush, as though they would carry less impact the faster she spoke them. “And that is done by their potential laying claim on them...usually by defending them from another potential...well, suitor.”

“Wait, what?” Harry shook his head. Was she saying what Harry _thought_ she was saying? “That man wasn't...I was just trying to keep Remus from getting killed!”

“ _Exactly._ On the _half-moon_.” Ron looked near-horrified at Harry's nonchalance. “Harry, why d'you think most of the Aurors were on desk duty today? Because _any_ form of defending a werewolf from physical or emotional harm will be seen as a claim to mate. The magic will bond the werewolf to its potential human immediately, and there's _no_ way to break it. You may as well have just proposed to Remus.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. He looked from one face to the next, hoping that this was some elaborate joke, but their grave expressions didn't change. “But...but...”

“Harry, this is bad. _Very_ bad,” Harry turned to his girlfriend while Hermione spoke, and while Ginny looked frightened, she didn't look angry. “This isn't something that can be controlled or broken. The only way for the bond to break is if one of you, well...dies.” Ginny's hand squeezed his tightly.

 

“But Remus is...well, _Remus._ He wouldn't—” Harry's panic-stricken words died in his throat when he looked back and saw Hermione shaking her head.

“He won't have a choice, and he won't be able to control it—at least, not for long.” Hermione paused, chewing the inside of her lip. “I don't know all the details, I'll have to research it further. All I know is that the wolf inside him will pretty much force him to seek you out. When that happens, I don't know what you can expect. He could be violent, possessive...he might even try to hurt Ginny.” Harry's gaze whipped back to her, and his grip on Ginny's hand tightened. He couldn't picture mild-mannered Remus Lupin going after an innocent in _any_ capacity. The idea that this bond-thing might force him to hurt someone made him dizzy with panic.

“Hermione, what am I gonna _do_? I—I can't, I mean...I don't want, well... _you know_.”

“I know, Harry. You were just doing what you always do...getting yourself into trouble.” Her mouth quirked into the shadow of a smile. Harry knocked back another shot of whisky while Hermione's tone shifted from grave to serious and businesslike. “Go home. Don't leave the house. Put up extra wards and block your Floo connection. Put up a new Fidelius Charm, because technically Remus is still part-Secret Keeper of Grimmauld Place.” She paused, chewing on her lip as she thought, then added, “I'll do some research, see if there's any accounts of one of these bonds being broken.”

“I'll go see Caldwell for you mate, she probably heard everything already, but just to be on the safe side.” Harry nodded his thanks, his mind still blank with shock.

“What about Ginny?” Harry turned to her, his mouth twitching into a worried frown. Again the images of Remus hurting her came to mind, and he felt himself tense. This was just too _bizarre._ “Will she be safe at The Burrow?” At once, Ginny scoffed and wrenched her hand from his.

“Oh _please._ As if I'm going to leave you all alone right now.” She glared at him, “and _don't_ you get all noble on me, Harry Potter. I'll be just as safe with you under the wards at Grimmauld Place as I would be at home.” Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she shot him a glare and his mouth snapped shut at once. Watching her, Harry wondered if it was worth arguing. Before he could answer however, Hermione cut in.

“It's probably a good idea that she come with you, Harry,” she said reasonably, though the two girls exchanged a knowing look. After a moment of tense silence, Hermione added, “ _Don't_ let him leave the house, Ginny,” the redhead grinned devilishly.

“Not to worry Hermione, I can think of plenty of things we can do without leaving the house, much less the bedr—” Ron choked on his drink while Harry roared with laughter.


	2. Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all! Thank you soooo much for the comments on chapter one of this fic. I pull the same self-doubt shit every time I start posting a new fic, and it's always exciting to see people responding well to it. Here is chapter two, I hope it lives up to your expectations. As always, comments and concrit are greatly appreciated!

Chapter 2 – Hunted

 

“Okay Harry,” Ginny wandered into the sitting room with a scroll of parchment in her hands, scribbling across it with her favourite self-inking quill as she went. She fell onto the sofa and propped her feet up on Harry's lap, her ankles crossed. “Fidelius Charm—done. Unplottable, check. Disillusionment Charms, check. Muggle repelling charms, check. _Muffliato_...did I forget anything?” She looked up, while Harry stared into the crackling fire, his mouth twitched into a small frown.

“No, that's everything I think. I blocked the Floo, and I promised Hermione that I wouldn't accept any unfamiliar owls.” He refocused his attention on the pair of dainty feet resting in his lap, peeled off Ginny's socks, and began to rub one of her left foot; it had been a long day for both of them, and Harry always enjoyed giving his girlfriend footrubs. Ginny tilted her head back and sighed, tossing the parchment and quill onto the coffee table as she relaxed.

“That's it then, we're sealed off.” She sighed again, something closer to a moan, and Harry smirked. “That feels nice,” she murmured, tilting her head up slightly so that she could look at him with half-lidded eyes.

“It's been a weird day,” Harry continued massaging her foot as he spoke, and she jerked her head in something of a lazy nod.

“You can say that again.”

“It's been a weird day,” Ginny snorted and reached out to smack him.

“Smartass,” she flopped back against the cushions, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “I just can't believe we're hiding from _Remus_ of all people. It's so weird.”

“I know,” Harry switched to her other foot, “I guess we just forget sometimes that...well, he's not human. He has to play by different rules.”

“Yeah, but it's not like it's his fault that this happened, _or_ yours,” she added when she saw him open his mouth to protest. “You didn't know, you didn't remember, whatever. The point is, you had no idea that protecting a longtime friend would cause this...mess.”

“I hope Ron and Hermione will be okay,” he muttered, frowning. “We should check the Black family library, see if there's anything there on werewolves...”

“I'm sure they'll have the good sense to put extra wards around their flat as well as The Burrow. Once this bond takes hold, I'm sure those are the first places Remus will think to look for you. I mean, once he realizes that he can't...get here.” Her voice softened a little, and she frowned.

“ _God_ this is so weird,” Harry burst out, releasing her other foot while she sat up curled into his side. He instinctively coiled an arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I never in my life thought I'd go in hiding from _Remus Lupin_.” He knew he was repeating her words, but his mind still hadn't caught up with the reality of what was happening.

“It's better than if you had done nothing,” Ginny's mouth quirked into a small frown, and she pressed closer to him. It was strange to see her so afraid; she hadn't looked like that since the war. The reminder of it caused a flood of emotion to rush through him, and Harry had to look away to compose himself. He didn't want Ginny to think that he'd fall to pieces that easily.

“What do you know about this...claim...thing?” Harry asked after he'd found his voice again.

“About as much as Hermione or Ron,” she shrugged. “Knowing who Remus is, I think it might take a little longer than normal for the magical aspects of it to kick in, because I doubt he would want to succumb to... _you know._ But you saw him when it happened, it was like...” She shivered, “I mean, his instincts will tell him to seek you out, to protect you. But his instincts, from what I know, won't be able to differentiate between friend and foe. So like Hermione said...he might see _me_ as a threat to you.” Harry's hold on her tightened.

“I'd never let anything happen to you.”

“I know, Harry.” She reached up and squeezed his arm gently. “But this is different, it's Primal Magic. It's like...It's like a hurricane. It's not something that can be controlled.. You might not have a whole lot of choices here...” Harry sputtered at her words, effectively cutting her off.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean? I reject his...advances,” the corner of his mouth twitched into half of a bitter smile. The word sounded very weird when paired with Remus. “I _want_ to be with you. We'll figure out some way to break it, and everyone goes home happy.”

“That's the thing Harry,” she said with a huff of impatience. “Were you even _listening_ to Hermione? Usually, you need to accept the advances of the werewolf, or one of you has to die in order to break the bond. Can you really _kill_ Remus?” Harry shook his head at once. After Voldemort, he refused to kill again. It wasn't something that was in him, and the idea of more death at his hands made his stomach roil.

“No, but...Ginny, are you suggesting I, what? Leave you for or old Defence professor?” Ginny snorted, and Harry couldn't help but crack a grin. It just sounded too ridiculous.

“Harry, are you even _attracted_ to men?” Her question sobered Harry up like nothing else, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his neck. His gaze shifted to her, and he could see at once that the laughter had faded from her eyes. Much to Harry's surprise, the question was not paired with a look of suspicion or anger, but a bright-eyed curiosity he'd rarely seen in her.

“Sure, yeah. Not that it matters. I'm with _you.”_ Harry shrugged, his thumb rubbing circles on her shoulder. “I've known that I've been into both since maybe...fourth year?”

“Diggory?” Harry felt his face colour further, and Ginny giggled.

“Diggory,” he confirmed with a short nod of his head. The memory of his first crush on a bloke still filled him with a sick sort of grief, given how it had played out, but the warmth of Ginny at his side helped chase away the demons of the past. In an effort to lighten the mood, he cleared his throat and brought their attention back to their more immediate problem. “So...tell me again why we need muggle repelling charms? It's not like we need to worry about the encyclopædia salesman popping by.”

“Hermione's idea,” she replied with a small shrug. “She figured that Remus could, y'know, if he wanted to, use a muggle to re-locate the house. It's pretty unlikely, with the other wards in place, but better safe than sorry, I guess.” Harry grimaced at her words.

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

~*~

 

Harry sent off his new tawny owl, Strax, with a note to Ron and Hermione. It contained only the address, _Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_ , under a charm that if intercepted, only they would be able to read it. As Harry watched Strax take off, he felt his stomach twist with unease. All the charms, the secrecy, coded messages...it felt painfully similar to how things had been at the beginning of the war.

This realization woke in him memories he'd rather not recall, and he forced his gaze away from the dot of his owl on the orange horizon. Harry felt as though he'd been swept up by a tornado and dropped in some bizarre parallel universe. It still hadn't sunk in that they were in hiding from Remus Lupin, the most mild-mannered person Harry knew. The warnings that the man could get violent with those closest to him made his head ache; it was like being confronted with a Blast-Ended Skrewt with a sparkling personality.

Harry went to bed that evening hoping that things would look better in the morning, but as Ginny snuggled into his side, he felt his positivism draining from him like water through his fingers.

 

A gloom hung over the couple as they nursed bowls of porridge and cups of coffee the next morning. Harry supposed that Ginny looking forward to being locked up in Grimmauld Place for the next...however long this took to sort out about as much as he was. He felt a pang of empathy for his late godfather, as even with the vast improvements to the interior decor, it was still dead depressing.

A sudden knock on the door made both their heads shoot up, eyes wide with panic. “Harry! Harry, open up, it's us!” Hermione's muffled voice came from the other side of the door, and Harry rushed over to let them in. They both looked grim as they crossed the threshold. “We've got news, and it isn't good.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grumbled, grimacing as he caught sight the sizable sheaf of parchment and heavy tomes she and Ron both carried. “C'mon, you want some breakfast?” Ron's eyes lit up at the sound of food, while Hermione seemed too focused on the problem at hand to think much about her own stomach. Even so, Harry pushed two bowls of porridge topped with a sizable glob of treacle across the table, as well as coffee in overlarge chipped mugs. Hermione pushed the offered food to one side and set down her research in front of her.

“As far as I know,” she began as Harry sat down again and returned to his breakfast, “Remus hasn't done anything—er—rash, yet. At least, no one has told us about him asking around for you, or anything like that. The _Prophet_ hasn't even reported it, but I think Kingsley is trying to keep it quiet.” Harry smiled a little at the bit of good news, though he doubted that Rita Skeeter would be able to keep her mouth shut for long. “I've been looking into this human-werewolf claim-potential thing,” Hermione continued, “and it looks like it could get pretty...well, messy.” She grimaced.

“Define _messy_.” Harry had spent half the night worrying about what might happen, and he had no patience for Hermione's attempt to break the news to him gently.

“Well, the claim coincides with what Snape told us about in third year—mostly. It's a bit more complex than a normal marriage bond.” Everyone grimaced at her choice of wording, “basically, like I said, you protecting him on the day of the half moon means you laid claim on Remus as a potential... _mate,_ ” she barely whispered the word, and she flushed a little as she said it. “It won't change your personalities in the strictest sense, but it will compel the wolf part of Remus to reciprocate the claim. And it _may_ encourage you to accept it, as well.” Harry swallowed thickly at her words, pushed aside the latter part of her statement, and focused for the moment on what Remus might do. 

“Reciprocate...like how?” Ginny looked as worried as Harry felt. He reached out at the same moment that she did, and he squeezed her hand.

“This is a human-werewolf bond,” Hermione began, and at the term Harry's brow furrowed a little. He'd heard her use it a few times, but he wasn't certain what that _meant._ Fortunately, it seemed that she sensed his confusion and elaborated. “There's at least half a dozen different kinds of claims and bonds in werewolf culture. A claim of a mating bond between a human and a werewolf is vastly different from a mating bond between two werewolves, for example, and then there are many other varieties, claim to turn someone, claim to challenge an Alpha or Beta for their position in the pack, claim to—”

“Okay Hermione,” Harry said, trying to keep the exasperation in his voice to a bare minimum, “let's get back to the point.” She went a little pink with embarrassment, cleared her throat once, and looked back at her notes.

“First, he'll feel compelled to find you. Find you, keep you, and protect you...” Hermione grimaced and Harry shivered, looking down at his half-eaten porridge. _Keep_ him? That sounded bad. “After Remus finds you, he'll want to...” Hermione trailed off and blushed a deep crimson. “I mean, it won't make him force himself on you, as far as I've read. The claim is based in Primal Magic and instinct and all that, but the magic itself comes from the desire to _protect_ , it's not inherently something sexual. It shouldn't push Remus to rape or sexual assault, and there's no account of a werewolf ever doing such a thing to their human mate.” Harry didn't like her use of the word _shouldn't_ instead of _won't_ , it almost made it sound as though there was a chance he _might_ do something. Harry shook his head and fought back a shiver; the idea that Remus wanted to have sex with him was just _too_ weird.

“So what can I do about it?” His voice carried a faint tremor to it, and Harry felt Ginny squeeze his hand gently.

“Not much,” Hermione grimaced again, “you _can_ reject his advances, there are a few accounts of that happening, but it won't end well for the werewolf. He'll get possessive, angry...most of the ones I've read about go mad.” She shuffled through her pile, her frown deepening. “Usually, a claim is laid because the person already had romantic feelings for the werewolf in question, so there's usually no reason to want to break the bond. Like I said, the only surefire way to break it is if one of you dies, which, obviously, we'd rather not happen. And there's...other stuff.” She went a little pink again, and Ginny's hand tightened in his.

“Out with it, Hermione,” he muttered in a monotone, while he pushed away his uneaten porridge.

“Well, when the full moon is near, he'll be more, erm, determined, I guess? He might be violent, not to you, but to those close to you. There's a few accounts of a family member being seriously hurt by the potential's werewolf because they did something as simple as giving them a hug or holding their hand. They'd never hurt their potential, but they'll feel the need to protect you from basically any outside influence. It can get out of hand pretty fast.” She frowned again, determinedly not meeting his or Ginny's gaze.

“Can get this more fun?” Harry mumbled sarcastically, while he lowered his gaze to the tabletop, and picked absently at an indentation at the edge.

“Well...things can get pretty weird even after the claim is reciprocated and the magic has settled.” Harry looked up again.

“Weird how?”

“Well, while the potential is the one to make the initial claim, it's always the werewolf who is the er...domineering one in the relationship.” Hermione went a little pink again, despite her best efforts to sound academic and impartial. “They will usually make an effort to assert their dominance even when it's completely unnecessary. Like...if they see someone touching their partner, they'll make a show of holding them or being quite open with their affections, even if it's completely unnecessary. There are a few accounts here...” she trailed off, riffling through her papers again, “ah...here: Accounts of the werewolf going as far as determining who the potential can associate with, what they're allowed to eat...”

Harry felt a sick sort of cold settle in the pit of his stomach as Hermione spoke, and he saw her eyes widen in alarm when she seemed to realize the effect her words were having. “Those cases are really, really rare, Harry,” Hermione added hastily, “I doubt Remus would be like that. Most of these accounts are things the werewolf has done near to the full moon. It's not like the werewolf in the, er, _relationship_ will be like that all time.” Even with her reassurance, Harry still felt properly afraid for the first time in ages, and for a moment he felt as though he was frozen on the spot. This wasn't happening. This _couldn't_ be happening.

“What am I supposed to _do_ Hermione?” He croaked at last, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “This is...it's-it's _mad._ ” He felt completely overwhelmed by what she was telling him. Harry's hand was tense in Ginny's, her sudden tiny gasp of pain the only indicator of how tightly he had been holding onto her, and he quickly relaxed his grip.

“Honestly? I don't know, Harry.” Her gaze flitted momentarily to Ginny, and her eyes became suddenly very sad. “Your safest option might to just _accept_ his advances. If you don't he might pose a threat to everyone around you. Even with wolfsbane, there's no telling what he might do. This bond might be stronger than his will.” Harry choked at her words, and shifted his wide-eyed gaze to Ginny.

“Accept? How can you even _say_ that? He's—he's _Remus Lupin_. He's—God, he's old enough to be my _father_.” Harry shivered and looked down at the tabletop again.

“I know Harry,” Hermione said gently, “but this isn't just about you. You need to consider what will happen if you reject him, in the long run I mean.” Harry looked up and saw that she was looking significantly in Ginny's direction. Break it off with Ginny to be with...he couldn't even form the thought. “He'll eventually target those who you're close to. I don't know what'll happen, or how out of hand this whole thing might get.” Her voice maintained that soft, placating calm, like Harry was some distraught beast that needed to be soothed. “I just don't want to see anyone getting hurt.”

“Why _me_ , Hermione?” He felt his overwhelming fear give way to frustrated anger. It just wasn't _fair_. “Why do I _have_ to do this? Why can't I just have my life?” He gritted his teeth, “I did everything Dumbledore wanted, _everything_ I needed to do to fulfill the Prophecy. I _died_ for Christ's sake! I just want a life that's _mine_.” For a moment, his voice caught, and the gentle warmth of Ginny's hand in his grounded him enough to bring him back to reality.

“Hermione, isn't there anything we can do to break this, other than killing Harry or Remus?” Ginny's voice was steadier than Harry's had been, and not for the first time, he felt amazed by how _strong_ she was. It couldn't have been easy being witness to this entire mess, but the way her face was hardened, showing no emotion, it told Harry that she was as upset about this as he was, even if she wasn't showing it.

“I'll keep looking,” she said with a small frown, “but so far it looks pretty unlikely.”

“We'll check the Black library,” Harry added in, his voice croaking more than he had meant for it to. In a moment of panic, he realized something that they may have missed. “Did anyone get in contact with Bill? Is Shell Cottage warded too? Remus might try there too, since Bill is the only other sort-of werewolf that we know.”

“Way ahead of you mate,” Ron replied thickly around a mouthful of porridge, while both Hermione and Ginny wrinkled their noses with disgust. “Dad contacted them last night, it's all warded and everything.”

“Good,” Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. He hated the idea of Fleur or little Victoire getting caught in the crossfire.

The couple stuck around until Ron had consumed three helping of porridge, then headed off for the day. In the silence that followed, Harry felt no more at ease. He had remained at the table while Ginny escorted them out, talking with urgent whispers quietly enough that Harry couldn't overhear them. With a huff, he pressed his forehead against the cool tabletop and closed his eyes. _Why me?_ The thought passed through his mind for the millionth time that morning, and it was still as gut-wrenching as it had been every other time. He couldn't wrap his head around it, and a small part of him didn't _want_ to understand it, much less accept it. Harry sat up with a small huff, only to see Ginny leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed, watching him uncertainly. He forced a small smile, but she didn't seem pacified by the gesture.

“Library, then?” He asked her wearily. All he wanted to do was crawl in a hole and sleep for fifty years, but he figured that at least attempting to work out the problem was better than sitting around and wallowing in despair.

“Yeah, all right,” she forced a small smile and moved over to him, sliding her hand into his before making their way down the hall. 

 

~*~

 

 _Why did I suggest research when I could be doing something_ fun _?_ Harry frowned, staring over the top of the book at Ginny, who was bent over a particularly low shelf, sifting through the dusty volumes that they had yet to go through. The sight of her delightfully muscled backside made him feel delightfully warm. The moment he reluctantly shifted his gaze back down to the book in his hands, his arousal died as soon as it had come. Words like _werewolf_ and _mate-bond_ jumped out at him, and he felt as though he had swallowed several live snakes.

A sudden _crack_ made both Harry and Ginny jump, she letting out a squawk of surprise and dropping the book under her arm directly onto her bare foot. Hopping on one foot and wincing, she shot Kreacher a nasty look. “Master Harry and Mistress Ginny,” he bowed deeply to them each in turn, Regulus's locket scraping slightly against the floor as he did so. “Kreacher is bringing you lunch, as Master Harry is saying he wishes to spend more time with The Library.” He clicked his fingers and a towering plate of sandwiches as well as a flagon of pumpkin juice appeared on one of the empty tables.

“Yeah, thanks Kreacher. D'you remember what I told you last night?” Kreacher nodded fervently, his ears flapping.

“Master Harry says to not let nasty werewolves in. Kreacher remembers.” Harry felt his gut twist uncomfortably at the elf's choice of words, but nodded.

“Er—yeah. Exactly. Um, thanks again, for the sandwiches I mean.” Kreacher bowed again and disappeared with another loud _crack._ Harry sighed heavily and stood with his book, moving over to the food the elf had brought with him. Ginny limped over to him with a small stack of books in her arms, and they punctuated their reading with large, undignified bites of roast beef.

 

“ _Ugh,_ ” Ginny pushed away another volume in frustration towards the small pile of books they'd already gone over. “This is so stupid. Hermione's good at this sort of thing, not me. Not to mention that there's _nothing_ about how to break this bond thing.” It had been an hour, and both of them had come up with next to nothing that would fall into the realm of helpful information.

“Nothing in here either,” Harry snapped the book shut and set it aside. He raked his fingers through his hair with a huff of frustration, staring over at the stack they had yet to go through. “I wish these damn writers would stop _romanticizing_ it,” he grumbled, reaching for another thick volume titled _Non-Human Rites and Rituals,_ and opened it at random and began flicking through the pages. “There's nothing _romantic_ about this.” He could feel his anxiety beginning mount, and it seemed as though Ginny could sense it.

“Just breathe, Harry,” Ginny said patiently, her head cradled in her hand as she flicked through the pages absentmindedly. “If you're in a panic, you might miss something.”

“How are _you_ so calm about all this?” He grumbled, turning his gaze from her to the book.

“I'm _not,_ ” her gaze shot up to him, and his head snapped up in surprise to her sharp tone. “I _hate_ the idea that you might have to—” she cut herself off, grumbling her frustration. “Losing our heads won't help, so I'm doing what I can to _help_ you, you prat.”

“Sorry Ginny,” he mumbled after a moment of tense silence, “I'm just...a little freaked out by all this.”

“It's fine,” she replied, her voice still tense, “let's just try and get through this, maybe we'll find something before dinner.”

 

Another three more hours of looking, and Harry still felt as though they were still stuck at square one. Harry followed Ginny out of the library and into the sitting room, and threw himself bodily onto the sofa. He rubbed at the corners of his eyes in a vain attempt to banish some of his exhaustion. Harry's intent to nap and perhaps forget about the impossible situation for a couple hours was cut short however when he heard Ginny make a noise like an angry cat. He looked up and saw her looking out the window, her body taut with agitation.

“What is it?” He didn't move from his spot, certain that he already knew what her answer would be.

“It's Remus.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm going by the approximation in terms of Victoire's age according to an HP Wiki I found, so she's about one.


	3. Slouching Towards Bethlehem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am pleased to announce that the first draft of book one is thiiiiiis close to being complete, which translates to I'm hopeful that I'll be able to begin posting more frequently than once a week soon. We shall see, but as I said, I'm hopeful. Here is the next installment, I hope you guys enjoy it.

Chapter 3 – Slouching Toward Bethlehem

 

Harry forced himself up and walked over to the window where Ginny stood. His stomach was tied up in knots, his panic mounting as he approached the window, a feeling which only intensified as he reached the ledge and looked outside.

As Ginny had said, Remus stood in the square, pacing back and forth along the houses numbered eleven through fourteen. His brow was furrowed and his fists were clenched, and he looked as though he was physically in pain, his red-rimmed eyes staring ahead of him and barely casting the houses he passed a fleeting glance. Harry pressed his palm flat against the window, feeling guilt replace the bubbling panic in his gut. _He_ had done this to Remus. If he hadn't been so rash, maybe none of this would have happened. Remus stopped before number eleven and sat down heavily on the kerb, burying his face in his hands.

Harry stepped back, and Ginny steered him over to the sofa. He sat down heavily and leaned back, pressing the back of his head into the upholstery. Harry didn't look at her, the mishmash of guilt and panic crammed into his head left him at a loss for words. She seemed to understand his silence, and Harry felt the cushions dip as she sat next to him. Her arm coiled around his shoulder as she reached up to toy with his hair. The light touches helped him relax, though he was still painfully aware of the unwanted visitor that was loitering barely twenty feet from where they sat. Suddenly, the front door snapped open, and they both jerked up, spinning around wildly.

“Don't panic, it's me!” Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding at the sight of Hermione. Her hair tied back in a loose, messy ponytail and her clothing was distinctly wrinkled; it appeared as though she hadn't slept since the last time they'd seen her.

“Damn it,” he hissed, glaring at her, “you scared the living daylights out of us.” She smiled apologetically, kicking off her shoes as she stepped into the sitting room. Hermione plopped down in one of the available armchairs and turned to face the couple.

“You have a visitor outside, did you know?” She asked, ignoring Harry's comment.

“We're aware,” Ginny said tensely, frowning at Hermione. Her appearance did not exactly bode well, and Harry suspected that she, too, was waiting to hear what his supposed stalker had been up to. Harry cocked a brow at Hermione, inviting her to speak.

“He hasn't done anything, well, _bad,_ ” Harry frowned at her less than reassuring tone of voice. “Last night he started asking around for you, and obviously no one told him anything, but...” She frowned, casting a quick glance towards the window. “I dunno, maybe it's a werewolf thing, like he can smell you or something?” Harry felt a little queasy at her words, and far from placated by the hypothesis. He stood quickly, reluctantly letting go of Ginny and he went back to the window.

The sight of the older man caused a flood of confused panic to rush through him. Remus's head whipped up abruptly and his fierce amber gaze spun and locked on Harry. Harry's breath caught, but a split second later the expression softened, and he turned back around. Had Remus actually seen him? With the extra protections in place it was impossible, wasn't it? Harry hoped the fierce look had been some sort of wild fluke.

“I can't believe...” he trailed off and shook his head. It would do no good to repeat the same sentiment for the millionth time; everyone felt the strangeness at the concept of hiding from an old friend like Remus. Harry turned away from the window and sat on the edge of the sill while he looked over at Hermione. “If he didn't do anything bad, what _did_ he do?”

“He went to the Burrow last night, but obviously with the extra wards, he couldn't get in.” Hermione's expression softened, looking away from Harry and into the fire grate. “He wandered around the edges for a while, then Arthur went out to try and talk to him,” Harry exchanged a panicked look with Ginny. “He's fine,” Hermione added quickly, catching the look. “I wasn't there so I didn't see it, but Molly told us that they shouted a bit, then Remus took off. Arthur wouldn't tell her what Remus had said, but he looked fairly shaken, from what I gathered.”

“That's not very reassuring, Hermione.” Harry crossed his arms, and struggled with the temptation to look back to see if Remus was still outside. With difficulty, he stayed where he was and kept his eyes fixed on his friend.

“I don't know what to tell you Harry,” she said snappily, shooting him a glare. “I wasn't there, I didn't see it. I only know what Molly told us. After that I got an owl from Bill, he said that Remus showed up at Shell Cottage and about lost his mind when he realized that he was warded there too.” Her mouth twitched into a small frown. “That's what I'm here about, actually. Bill wanted to know if he could come talk to you, but obviously I'll need you to let him in, as you're Secret Keeper here.”

“What does Bill want to talk about?” Harry gave into temptation and cast another glance outside, only to find that Remus had gone. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, but forced it from his mind as he pushed himself off the sill to rejoin Ginny. He wasn't sure how another werewolf—or in Bill's case part-werewolf—would react to what he'd done.

“Mostly he wants to go over what Remus said, and he said he'd clarify some of the aspects of this...bond-thing.” Hermione grimaced, her eyes flitting briefly to the window before refocusing on Harry. He didn't like the sympathetic look he saw in her eyes when she refocused her gaze upon him. “Harry, I know you didn't mean for this to happen, but it's going to be very hard on Remus. He made it quite clear, or, as clear as he _could_ , given his state, that he would break this if he could, but he can't. That's basically what he told Bill. The wolf side of him wants you, Harry, and it won't be satisfied until it has you.”

Ginny's lithe hand at his back was not as comforting as it had once been.

 

~*~

 

Harry had given Hermione a piece of parchment with the address to give to Bill without complaint. He knew the eldest Weasley child would likely have insight into the whole situation that Hermione may have missed, it made him no less anxious about the entire thing.

The following afternoon, Remus had returned and resumed his pacing of the square. Even from the window, Harry could see that he looked awful. Dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes, and his entire form seemed to be shaking. Harry couldn't tell if the shakes were from some physical ailment or the emotional repercussions of the bond. It was deeply unsettling, and again Harry was awash with guilt for having done this to the last surviving Marauder.

Harry watched as Remus was approached by a muggle policeman, and Harry's eyes bulged a little. It seemed as though his fears were unfounded however, as Remus spoke politely to the man. It seemed wildly out of character, given his physical state, and what he'd been told that Remus had done at the Burrow and Shell Cottage. Harry did not miss the way Remus casually flicked his wand at the muggle, and a glazed expression crossed the man's features before he wandered off. Remus sat down on the opposite kerb and stared at the line of the houses with an unsettling intensity.

Harry was distracted from the werewolf's presence by the muffled _crack_ of someone apparating onto the top step of Number Twelve. He jumped up and rushed into the front hall in time to see Ginny letting her eldest brother in.

He looked the same as he had the last time Harry had seen him. Long ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail, fang earring, dragonhide boots, and distinctive scarring on his face. The sight of the scars made Harry's stomach turn over in a way that they never had before. Bill's eyes found Harry's, and he nodded. “Harry, I wish I could say it was good to see you,” Harry choked out a feeble laugh.

“C'min,” he said, waving halfheartedly towards the sitting room he'd jest left. Bill followed Harry and Ginny into the room, where a pot of tea and plate of biscuits was waiting for them. Harry shook his head with an amused smile; he _knew_ that hadn't been there when he stepped out.

“Did you talk to Kreacher, Ginny?” She smirked knowingly at him.

“I figured you'd be calmer with some orange pekoe and sweets in you.” Harry laughed weakly and sat down heavily on the sofa. He flicked his wand to serve up the beverages, his hands shaking too badly to properly handle the china at the moment. Bill and Ginny accepted the floating cups, she sitting at Harry's side while Bill took an armchair opposite.

“So Harry,” Bill began, regarding Harry with a calculating look. “I'm sure Hermione told you that Remus popped by Shell Cottage last night.”

“Er—yeah. She didn't say much about it, other than he apparently went ballistic.”

“ _That_ would be an understatement. Had it not been for the wards, I would have not put it past him to hurt Fleur or Victoire.” Harry blanched at the admission, choking a little on the biscuit in his mouth. Ginny clapped him on the back, and Harry took a large gulp of tea to clear his throat. “But it's not Remus's fault, not really,” Bill frowned. Harry looked down at his lap at the words, picking at a loose thread on the sofa.

 “Yeah, it's mine,” he mumbled, picking at the remains of the biscuit in his hand, no longer hungry.

“That's not what I meant, Harry,” Bill's hard tone caused Harry to look back up, while their guest set his nearly untouched cup on the table. “The werewolf is a creature of pure instinct. It has no conscience, and it's driven by base Primal Magic. It surfaces at the full moon fully, but it is present in other small ways within all aspects of the werewolf's life. Keener senses, often they are more—er—domineering in certain aspects of their personal life, that sort of thing.” Harry had a feeling that Bill meant sexually, and he felt his stomach twist with panic again. “At certain phases of the moon, there are other things...as you've no doubt learned.”

“That would be putting it mildly,” Harry replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He had known most of what Bill had said already, but he felt that it would be rude to say so.

“So, when Remus came to my home yesterday, I knew that it wasn't _him._ It was his instincts in overdrive, looking for the one thing that would ease his mind and body—you.” Harry felt his face heat uncomfortably, and looked away from Ginny shamefully.

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen to him,” Harry mumbled, staring down at the stone floor. “I just, I didn't know about the half moon thing. If I'd known—”

“—You would have done exactly the same thing, because saving people is what you _do,_ Harry.” Harry looked up to Bill's kind, understanding smile and he nodded meekly, uncertain what he could say. Bill was right, of course. He would never have let someone be hurt if he had it in him to stop it. The thought was less reassuring than Bill had probably intended.

“What should I do?” He looked briefly back at Ginny, and felt an agonizing pull at his heart. Did he really have to leave her and go through with this?

“What do you know about the claim, Harry?” Harry turned back to Bill, the gentle tone he'd used doing nothing to calm Harry's shattered nerves.

“Er—some stuff. Remus will track me down, get possessive and jealous,” he shifted uncomfortably as he spoke, “and...other s-stuff.” He felt his blush rise again, but he couldn't bring himself to say _sex_. Bill nodded a little to his words.

“When you accept Remus's advances,” Harry grimaced at Bill's choice of adverb, “the claim will settle, and you two will be able to live fairly normal lives.” Harry swallowed thickly and looked over to Ginny again as Bill continued. “It won't settle straightaway, it will take some time, but it _will.”_

“How much time?” The tentative question made Harry's insides squirm uncomfortably; he had an idea what Bill's answer might be.

“Most couples who enter into this bond were already involved, as you no doubt know,” Harry nodded mutely. “Following the claim, many of them take an—er— _Honeymoon,_ of sorts,” he cocked a brow pointedly, and Harry felt his face go bright red. “Because of your unique situation, the bond will only settle with time as you two...” he trailed off, and looked sadly at his little sister. He didn't need to say it, Harry could fill in the blanks of his statement, and he, too, turned to look at her.

She was clearly putting on a brave front for her brother, but it was obvious to Harry that the words hurt her as much as they did him. They linked hands, her knuckles white as she held onto him. “He'll still be a little different from the Remus you knew, in some ways,” Bill added in a softer tone of voice.

“Different, how?” Harry's hand tensed in Ginny's; he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“Well, overall, he'll be the same. But he might be more protective of you than before. This could mean he might attempt to make decisions for you, believing that it's for your own good. Or, he might follow you out on cases, to ensure you don't get hurt.” Bill frowned as he stared down at the table thoughtfully. “It's different with every werewolf, the claim never reacts the same way, so there's no telling exactly what will happen when you accept him. It's possible nothing will change, and he'll be the same Remus you have always known.” Harry cringed again at Bill's use of _when_ in lieu of _if._ Harry jumped to his feet, yanked his hand from Ginny's, and buried his face in his hands as he paced restlessly.

“ _Everyone_ has told me I have to accept this...this _claim_ thing,” he turned back to look at Bill, his gaze momentarily shifting to Ginny. “Do I really have no choice?” Bill smiled sadly.

“No Harry, you really don't.”

 

~*~

 

Remus was still outside when Bill left that evening.

Even with the extra wards in place and Bill apparating off the top step, Harry kept well out of sight of the front hall just to be on the safe side. Harry had not moved from his spot on the sofa, his head buried in the crook of his elbows, his hands gripping at the back of his head. He jumped a little when he felt Ginny's arm coil around his midsection, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Everyone had told him that he had to leave her...for _Remus_. What would his hands feel like on him, in place of hers? He shivered at the thought.

“God, Ginny...” His voice sounded strangely hoarse in his ears, and he lifted his head to look at her. She smiled weakly, looking as lovely as ever. “I'm so sorry, I didn't want this—any of this.”

“I know,” her voice was steadier than his, and she pressed closer to him, “trouble just follows you around like a duckling.” Harry snorted, and nodded slightly.

“Tell me about it,” Harry moved to look out the window, but Ginny caught his cheek in her hand, and turned his gaze back to her. Her eyes were blazing, and a small, almost bitter smile was painted across her lips. She crawled into his lap and kissed him deeply, and Harry coiled his arms around her trim waist to hold her there as he groaned softly. She felt so good in his arms, and he wished, not for the first time in recent days, that none of this mess with Remus had happened.

“Come on,” she whispered, her breath tickling his mouth, “there's nothing we can do about...anything tonight. Let's just... _enjoy_ ourselves.” Grinning, she slid from his lap and tugged at his hand. Harry needed no further encouragement as he stood and allowed her to lead him upstairs.


	4. Wreckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Annnnnd first draft complete. I'm up to posting twice a week: Mondays & Thursdays, and I've already started work on book 2. I'm having a ton of fun with this fic, and I hope you guys are enjoying it as much as I am!

Chapter 4 – Wreckoning

 

Harry woke the next morning feeling a great deal calmer than he had the night before. Ginny's naked form was curled in his arms, her head perched lightly against his chest. Her cheeks were still tinted a faint shade of pink over her freckles, and she looked completely at peace. Seeing her now, Harry felt his heart break a little for her. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like, being more or less forced into giving their partner to someone else. Harry sighed softly and held her close, the inevitability of having to let her go left him feeling painfully hollow. He wished he had more time to come to terms with this, to work through the agonizing mess of his panic-stricken mind, and he wished he had the strength to let Ginny go, so that she wouldn't have to be the one to do it.

Harry spent an hour watching Ginny sleep before she began to stir. By then, he had worked himself into a fresh state panic at the choice facing him—leave Ginny, or risk the safety of his friends. The choice he had to make was obvious, but that fact made it no easier to accept. He shivered again, but swallowed his fear as her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him sleepily. “Morning,” she stretched her arms high over her head and grinned at him, still basking in the afterglow of their night together. Harry moved in to kiss her, but she lifted a hand and pressed it to his mouth, stopping him short. “Your morning breath would wake the dead, brush your teeth first.”

“Yes ma'am,” he rolled his eyes with a grin, and reluctantly untangled himself from her. He stepped down the hall and into the bathroom, his mouth still twitched into a small, amused smile.

Figuring he may as well do the thing properly, he showered and brushed his teeth, and Ginny took her turn in the loo while he returned to the bedroom to select some clothing for the day. Given that he was still under house arrest, he pulled out a pair of tatty jeans and a light blue T-shirt with a white graphic of a snitch across the front. Despite the chaos of his life, his stomach grumbled loudly in protest to how little he'd eaten the day before, and as a result he headed down to the main level to find Kreacher.

“Good Morning Master Harry!” Kreacher called, snapping his fingers repeatedly as dish after dish of breakfast food appeared on the table. The enormous portions reminded Harry of Hogwarts breakfasts, and he smiled slightly at the memory. “Kreacher has your post, nasty werewolf is scaring away the owls, and they come to Kreacher by the kitchen doors.” Harry swallowed his distaste for Kreacher's epithet as the elf pressed a wad of letters, a thick parcel, and a copy of the _Prophet_ into his hands.

“Um, thanks Kreacher,” the elf bowed low, his nose almost pressing into the floor, then disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

Ignoring the temptation to check if Remus was still loitering outside, Harry plopped himself down and loaded his plate with sausage, bacon, eggs, and toast while he sifted through the mail.

Most of it was garbage: invitations to various high-society galas and Ministry events that had absolutely nothing to do with him, and requests for donations to a number of non-profit organizations that had cropped up following Voldemort's downfall. Most of these he tossed aside, along with the morning's _Prophet._ It hadn't taken Rita Skeeter long to sensationalize his disappearance, and the headline _HARRY POTTER THROWN TO THE WOLVES_ was followed by a sickening article that was mostly composed of blatant werewolf prejudice or “interviews” with anti-werewolf individuals. Entirely ignoring the newspaper, he turned to the thick parcel and tore away the brown paper. Inside he found to his surprise a thick folder of paperwork from Auror Caldwell, along with a short, terse letter:

 

_Potter,_

 

_I understand that your situation severely limits your ability to come into the office. However, we have been swamped with cases following your unfortunate circumstance, and we need all hands on deck. If you could finish these reports A.S.A.P. and send them back to me by end of day, I'll have the office pay you for the day. If you are interested in doing at-home work until you are able to return to field work, please let me know._

 

_Auror M. Caldwell_

 

Harry felt his stomach twist with guilt, but the promise of work at least gave him a distraction from everything that had been going on. Smiling a little, he set aside the thick file and focused on his breakfast, while outside the dark sky rumbled ominously.

Ginny wandered downstairs fifteen minutes later, freshly showered and hair still a little damp, but dressed in her pyjamas and a dressing gown. Like him, it seemed as though she saw little point in dressing properly when they still couldn't leave the house safely. She held a slightly crushed letter in her left hand, which she put aside while she loaded her plate. Harry cocked a brow at the letter, waiting for her to explain. She stared him down, hesitating for a moment before she finally spoke.

“The Holyhead Harpies want to give me a tryout,” Ginny had clearly tried to go for nonchalant, but her voice quivered with barely controlled excitement. Harry dropped his fork.

“Ginny, that's fantastic!” She smiled weakly, casting a brief glance back to the letter. “When's the tryout?”

“This afternoon. Did Kreacher tell you about the thing with the post?” Both their faces fell a little, as the conversation had inadvertently shifted back to Harry's predicament.

“Yeah, he said they're coming by the kitchen doors or something.” She nodded, and Harry glanced to the letter with a small frown. “Make sure you apparate off the top step, so that...so that you're not seen.” Ginny blinked at him, then understanding flooded her features as her eyes widened.

“You're not seriously suggesting I go to the tryout?”

“Ginny, I can't let you throw away your future over a stupid mistake _I_ made,” another thunderclap sounded overhead, and large raindrops began to dot the windows. “I just hate that I won't be there to cheer you on.”

“I dunno Harry...” she worried the side of her lip and cast a brief glance towards the window. “What if...something happens?” She didn't need to elaborate further, they both knew what _something_ she was referring to.

“Stick close to the group, don't wander off, and don't linger.” Harry tried to mirror her attempt at casual conversation, but he, too, failed miserably. “Ginny, it's the _Holyhead Harpies_. You can't _not_ go.”

 

~*~

 

It took an inordinate amount of pestering, but at last Harry managed to convince Ginny to go to the tryout. By early afternoon, the thunderstorm seemed to have blown itself out, leaving the square a muddy mess, though the sky was still almost black. Ginny stood in the front hall with her broom, dressed in her Quidditch robes and her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, eyeing the front door as though it had teeth.

“Be careful, all right?” She turned back to Harry, and her mouth quirked into an assuring smile at his words. Harry pulled her in for a tight hug, silently praying that he wasn't making a huge mistake by encouraging her to go. Her arms reached up and she squeezed him just as tightly in return.

“You too.” She moved to pull away, but Harry pulled her back for a chaste kiss.

“Oh, and good luck,” she grinned, and Harry reluctantly let her go and watched her slip outside. He had wanted to watch her go, but he decided better of it and listened behind the closed door to the muffled _crack_ of her disapparating.

After Ginny had gone, Harry felt at a loss for what to do with himself. The storm seemed to have rekindled itself following his girlfriend's departure, and the windows rattled in their panes and thunder rolled overhead in a prognostic symphony. Lightning flashed in dangerous forks, and Harry watched as the windows of the muggle houses in the square went black as they lost their electricity.

Most unnervingly, Harry could not help but notice a hunched figure sitting on the kerb, shivering violently under a sodden cloak. Harry felt a multitude of emotions jump through his mind in quick succession: panic, then guilt, and finally sympathy. His first instinct was still to invite Remus in and out of the cold and wet, despite the fact that he _knew_ how stupid it would be to do so. Harry shook his head and forced his gaze away from the window. Knowing what he knew now, lowering his guard where Remus was concerned would be an extremely bad idea.

Harry moved to the second floor in an attempt to resist the temptation to check on Remus periodically, and threw himself onto his bed. He picked up his worn copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ and tried to read, even though he could practically recite the book verbatim. The image of Remus sitting on the kerb, and the fact that it was Harry's stupid impulsiveness that put him there kept crossing his mind. He threw down the book with a huff of frustration, and pressed his hands to his face with a groan.

Remembering vaguely that his supervisor had given him work to do, he trudged back downstairs and ignored the strong temptation to look out the window. Harry grabbed the thick folder and relocated himself to the library with a self inking quill, sat down at one of the tables, and got to work.

The work was as tedious as it had been the last time he'd been in the office, and Harry wondered vaguely how stay-at-home Ministry workers _did_ it. Everything around him was oddly distracting, especially following Kreacher bringing him a towering stack of sandwiches and a bottle of butterbeer an hour into trying to work. His gaze flitted to the towering bookshelves, wondering if maybe, just _maybe_ there was something they may have missed in their search—something Hermione would have found in two seconds flat. Harry shook his head and tried to focus on the case file in front of him.

Thunder continued to rumble above him, but without the benefit of a nearby window, it was difficult to say if the storm was anywhere near passing. By six o'clock, Harry closed the folder with a triumphant smile, pleased that he'd finished just under the wire.

Harry stood, wrapped the file in thin brown paper and cast a water-repelling charm on the lot. He headed to the kitchen where Kreacher was preparing dinner, and called down Strax, who fluttered down and landed lightly on his forearm.

Strax took the parcel from him and flew out into the gale without hesitation while Harry stood by the door to watch him disappear into the gloom. He reluctantly shut and locked the door, then turned away while casting a quick glance to the elf, who hadn't looked up from his task. “Supper will be ready shortly Master Harry, will Mistress Ginny be joining you again?” At the words, Harry felt his gut clench, realizing that perhaps sooner, rather than later, Ginny wouldn't be sharing meals with him at all. Swallowing his misery, he forced a nod.

“Er—yeah. She'll be here.” His voice sounded hoarse in his ears, and Harry quickly slipped out of the kitchen, his panic over the claim returning in full measure. _How_ could he have let this happen? He sat down heavily in one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fire and raked his hands through his hair. A fork of lightning briefly illuminated the dim sitting room. He watched the trees bowing against the wind, the almost black sky, and it felt as though the weather was mirroring his inner turmoil. Harry realized with a wave of relief that the kerb was deserted. The sight of the empty square brought his mind rushing back to thoughts of the claim, and what would soon be expected of him. Harry couldn't fathom _accepting_ Remus—at least, not in the way he had to—but knowing that he had no choice in the matter made it infinitely worse. Harry folded his legs beneath him and watched the storm rage.

Harry was uncertain how much time had passed, with the sky so black it was difficult to tell. Kreacher had rekindled the fire and brought him a cup of tea before bustling back to the kitchen. He was grateful for the elf's presence, fairly certain that had he been left alone he probably would have forgotten to eat in his haze of panic. Even so, he could hear Kreacher muttering darkly under his breath, and Harry assumed that it was much later than he thought. A tendril of worry latched on to the panic, and he hoped that Ginny was okay.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he heard a strange muffled _whump_ from the front hall. He jumped up and hurried out to see who it was, hoping that it was Ginny. He stopped short however when he heard something of a scuffle from the opposite side of the closed door. “ _Remus please, let me go!_ ” Ginny's high, panicked voice made his stomach turn over.

“ _Ginny, I_ need _him, please, don't make me—”_ Remus's voice was desperate and pleading. Harry felt his stomach lurch when the older man's words were cut off by a high yelp of pain.

“ _Stop it, you're hurting me!”_

“ _Give me Harry!”_ The words became more fierce, almost dangerous. The sound of Ginny crying out made Harry feel sick with guilt. The door suddenly crashed open, and Ginny fell backward with Remus on top of her, the pair of them sopping wet. Ginny's broom lay forgotten on the top step, and Remus had Ginny pinned to the ground. A hand was at her throat, while she squirmed and struggled, gasping for breath while her fingers clawed feebly at the offending limb, her eyes wide with fear.

“Remus, _don't!_ ” Harry took several rushed steps forward before he could think through what he was doing, and the wild, almost feral eyes of the werewolf found him. Realizing too late what he had done, Harry skidded to a halt and stared at the older man. The look he was being given had turned his fear for Ginny to mind-numbing panic for himself. Time seemed to freeze as Harry and Remus stared at each other, the surprise in both men rendering them into a state of momentary shock. Harry took several hurried steps backward; his sudden movement seemed to break the spell and Remus released Ginny. He rose slowly, and rushed at Harry.

Harry scrambled backward, startled by the intense, near-mad look in the other man's eyes. Before he could go a handful of steps, Remus reached him and drew him in close. Harry yelped in surprise, the older man's damp clothes squishing uncomfortably against his dry ones, and he buried his face in Harry's shoulder, inhaling deeply. Harry felt himself being dragged down to the ground, while Remus whispered, “ _Harry_...mine, mine...” over and over against his skin in a ragged, broken tone of voice. Harry shivered at the sensation of the man's harsh puffs of breath ghosting over his damp skin, but he was afraid to move. What if he did the wrong thing, and he made the whole situation worse? Harry's gaze shifted to Ginny, her wide-eyed fear mirroring his own.

Harry clenched his hands into fists, struggling to control his panicked trembling. Remus clung to him as though his life depended on it, and continued to inhale his scent—at least, that what it seemed like he was doing—while his soft murmurs dissolved into nonsensical, whispered rambling. Harry had absolutely no idea what to do. He stared past the hulking mass of Remus's form clinging to him to Ginny. She seemed frozen in place as well, while she watched the scene before her with wide, frightened eyes. Harry tried experimentally to move, but Remus only held on more tightly, pinning Harry's arms uselessly to his sides while a low, threatening growl escaped him. The lupine vocalization made Harry freeze in place, his breath hitching in fear.

Harry took a slow, trembling breath, and after several minutes of tense silence, he tried speaking. “Remus...” The older man didn't answer, and continued to hold on to Harry, shivering a little. Harry wasn't sure if the reaction was from cold or something else. “Remus,” he tried again, using the most delicate tone of voice he could muster, given his fear, “you can let me go, I—I'm not going anywhere.” Of course, that wasn't entirely true. If he had been certain that Ginny wouldn't be hurt because of it, he would have been tearing cheek away from the man faster than he could blink.

“You're afraid,” it had taken Remus several minutes to respond, and his hold on Harry had eased a little, though nowhere near enough to enable Harry to move.

“I—I am. You're scaring me, Remus,” Harry cursed inwardly at the tremor in his voice. “You attacked my—you attacked Ginny. Why would you do that?” He kept his voice as neutral as he could, though he found it much more difficult than he had expected.

“She smelled of you...” another low, lupine growl escaped him, and Harry tensed. “ _All_ of you,” Remus's grip tightened slightly, and Harry gasped a little as his breath was forced from his lungs. Remus seemed to sense his discomfort and relaxed his hold, though barely. Harry had no idea how to respond to his words. The Remus Lupin he had known would _never_ attack someone with so little provocation. It was beyond unsettling, and Harry felt a wave of panic-induced nausea wash over him. It hadn't occurred to Harry that their activities from the previous night would be so obvious to Remus's advanced sense of smell.

“You're _mine,_ Harry,” Remus whispered hoarsely, the tone of voice very close to anger. His hot breath tickled the exposed flesh of Harry's throat and made him shiver. “I _need_ you, I can't let _her_ have you.” Harry didn't know what to do. He felt out of his depth, and the way Remus held onto him was making him extremely uncomfortable, on top of his fear that the werewolf might do something rash in his half-mad state. They needed answers, they needed the only person who might be able to make sense of the whole situation. Over Remus's shoulder, his eyes locked with Ginny's, and he mouthed two words.

 

_Get Hermione._


	5. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is nearly twice as long as my usual chapter length, because I had to merge two chapters together. As always, comments and concrit are lovely :)

Chapter 5 – Choices

 

Ginny had barely managed to stand before Remus's gaze had whipped from Harry to her, his teeth bared and his eyes wild. In his crouched position over Harry, he held onto him more tightly, shifting as though trying to shield him from Ginny. Harry felt his breath catch with panic as a low, feral growl escaped the man that clung to him. Ginny's eyes widened with fright and she took a tentative step back, her hands held up in a motion of surrender. “ _Remus,_ ” Harry said in the most forceful tone he could muster, hoping to draw the older man's attention back to him. He cast Harry a brief glance, then refocused his attention on his perceived threat.

Swallowing his fear, Harry tried again, “Ginny's not going to do anything,” at the sound of her name, Harry's breath hitched as Remus's hold on him tightened. He forced himself to keep talking, as it seemed to be the only thing that was keeping him from attacking her outright. “She's—she's leaving,” he gave her a significant look, and as Remus's head spun to stare at him intently she nodded minutely, and hurried out the front door.

The moment Ginny disappeared from view, every muscle in Remus's body seemed to relax. The idea of being left alone with Remus in his current state made Harry's heart beat out his panic in a wild rhythm, and he could feel himself trembling with fright. Remus finally pulled back, his hands resting lightly on Harry's shoulders while he looked him over, his eyes taking in every inch of him with an intense look in his eyes that Harry didn't care to identify. He felt deeply unsettled by the expression, and Harry averted his gaze to the floor, feeling utterly unable to maintain some kind of eye contact with the man.

Remus's hand moved from his shoulder to lightly caress his cheek, and Harry jerked back in alarm, his gaze refocusing on Remus at once. The older man looked slightly startled by Harry's reaction, and for a moment his movements froze. Harry could still feel himself shaking, while Remus watched him with red-rimmed eyes, even his smallest movements not missed by the werewolf's keen sight. Very carefully, Harry slipped from Remus's hold and began to stand up, but almost at once Remus swept forward to embrace him again.

Startled, Harry stumbled a half-step backward and his heel skidded sharply against the damp floor. Before he was even consciously aware that he was falling, Remus had coiled an arm around his waist and caught him. The close proximity of their bodies filled Harry with fresh fear, and he wrenched himself out Remus's grip. For a moment, the man's arm had tensed as though he was reluctant to let him go, and with a look of genuine pain on his face his hold on him relaxed and Harry backed up into the wall next to the staircase. He breathed deeply as he tried to reign in his panic, and while Hermione had promised that Remus probably wouldn't sexually assault him, in that moment Harry wasn't entirely sure if he believed it; it was as though Remus had completely lost his will to his werewolf instincts.

“You're wet,” Remus's first words following Ginny's departure caught Harry off guard and he looked down to see the creased damp imprints from Remus's initial reaction of more or less tackling him. Without waiting for a response, he drew his wand and pointed it at Harry, the damp spots disappearing as a gentle warmth briefly enveloped his form. He repeated the charm on himself, though he never took his eyes off Harry. The look was just as intense, but up until that moment Harry had given little thought to what he _saw_ in the look. He still saw intense desire, a carnal hunger that was still deeply unsettling to see directed at him from someone like Remus. Paired with it however was a strange look he was unaccustomed to seeing; as though Remus was seeing Harry through new eyes. The combination made Harry's nervousness even more pronounced, and he swallowed thickly in an attempt to steady himself, though it did little to help.

“I—thank you,” he spoke to his feet, uncertain what he could say to stall while he waited for Ginny to come back with Hermione. Though, now that he'd seen how Remus had been with just Ginny here, he wondered if bringing in another so-called 'uninvolved party' was such a good idea.

Remus's familiar placid smile crossed his face, and he reached out for Harry. Still emotionally raw from all that had happened, he instinctively flinched away from the touch as though he'd been burned. Remus's face fell a little and Harry grimaced, guilt layering over his panic. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away from him, “this—it's just really weird for me.”

Remus reached forward again, more slowly this time, and his hand closed over Harry's. With some difficulty, he forced himself to not lurch away from the contact; this wasn't Remus's fault, not _really_. “I know, Harry,” he replied gently, and gave him a gentle tug. “Come, let's sit and talk.”

Trembling from head to foot, he allowed himself to be led into the sitting room. Remus seemed to sense his nervousness and offered a weak smile, though Harry wasn't able to return it. The older man was trembling slightly, as though the simple act of not pouncing on Harry was somehow physically painful. Upon reaching the sofa, Remus sat down at one end, while Harry chose the opposite side. He should have known that this would not deter the werewolf, nor would he be able to take a hint in his current state, and he was there in an instant.

Remus slipped an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him close, sighing contentedly, as he perched his chin against Harry's shoulder. Harry could feel the tense coils of muscles relax and he sighed contentedly as though the close contact had relieved the werewolf of some sort of physical pain. His eyes fluttered shut, and he wrapped his other arm across Harry's front, locking his fingers together at his hip. Harry's discomfort and feeling of awkwardness intensified, but having Remus in a somewhat calmer state was at least reassurance that he wasn't likely to be attacked.

He and Remus sat in silence, with the older man holding him close much in the same way he used to hold onto Ginny. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but the strangeness of it all kept Harry from being able to relax. Though Remus had said _talk_ , it seemed as though _cop a feel_ was a better bet, given how the older man's hand had begun to run up and down his spine, clearly in what he seemed to think was a soothing gesture. The contact made Harry shiver, though if Remus noticed the reaction, he didn't speak on it.

“R-Remus,” Harry grimaced, cursing his stammer, “I-I just wanted to know, this...this c _laim_ thing...” His face flamed and he trailed off, staring blankly at the fire to avoid meeting the intense gaze he knew that he was being given. Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to ask, but the ongoing silence was making him even more nervous. What did Remus expect of him? How accurate were those books he'd read? Would he _really_ try and hurt his friends if they got too touchy-feely for his liking? This was all _too_ weird. It seemed as though Remus could sense what he wanted to ask, and the hand on Harry's stopped its delicate movements and instead moved back to his hip and squeezed tightly; _possessively_. The feeling left him with a feeling in his stomach as though he'd swallowed several large ice cubes.

“I know you did not mean for this to happen, Harry,” his tone was tense, though Harry couldn't tell if it was rooted in anger at him for causing all this, or Remus's base instinct trying to make him do more than just hold onto him. Harry swallowed again, and willed himself to keep still; Harry had a feeling that giving into his deep desire to bolt would not be a wise move. “But I cannot...” he trailed off, sighing heavily, jerking his head as though he was trying to get water out of his ears. “I can't bury these...these _desires_ that this bond to you has awakened.” Remus's hand returned to caressing Harry's back, and he struggled to keep from shivering under the touch. Harry hated this on so many levels, but he also didn't want to make it harder on Remus. “I _want_ you, Harry,” the words made Harry tremble and he felt almost sick with fear.

“W-What happens now?” Harry grimaced again at the tremor in his voice, but the awareness of what was happening, coupled with the older man's hands on him had utterly shattered any façade of bravery he may have wanted to project. Harry forced his gaze away from the fire and back to Remus, only to find that the older man had mirrored his movements. He was still taller than Harry was, though not by much. Harry's head barely had to tilt up to meet the man's gaze, and he could not deny that he was afraid to hear Remus's answer.

Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, Harry was relieved from answering by the sounds of Ginny returning with Hermione in tow. Having a fairly good idea about what was likely to happen, he waited until Remus's hold on him slackened, and he vaulted himself over the sofa and ran to the front door before the werewolf had even stood up. Harry spread his arms wide, facing away from the door as Ginny and Hermione stepped inside, and he watched the possessive rage return in full measure and he tore towards the would-be intruders blindly. Any moment of clarity Remus had had was completely gone, and instinct took over.

It was as though he could not see Harry at all, with his gaze fixed on the two intruders at his potential's back. “Remus, _don't you dare._ ” Harry struggled to keep his tone even and commanding, and his gaze flicked to Harry as he skidded to a halt. His red-rimmed, bloodshot gaze was wide with barely-controlled anger, the wolf in him clearly furious that Harry dare stand up to him like this. He did not move, his eyes fixed on the werewolf while ignoring the way both girls had frozen still at the threshold, watching the silent exchange. Ever so slowly, Remus seemed to come back to himself and he stepped back, but he watched the girls' every move with narrowed eyes.

Harry kept his eyes fixed resolutely forward, watching Remus carefully and blocking any chance he may have at attacking the pair outright. He would not let anyone else get hurt because of this, and while it was now clear that bringing in another had definitely been a bad move, it was a little late to back out on it now.

Hermione circled around to his side, while Ginny moved as though to touch him, but lurched to a stop at the last moment and seemed to think better of the action. Harry was relieved that she hadn't; there was no telling how Remus would have reacted to touch between Harry and his girlfriend. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides. “Remus, I _asked_ for Hermione to come here, to clear the air between all of us, and fill in some blanks. She's not here for any other purpose.”

It seemed for a moment as though Remus did not believe him. His eyes were still narrowed, his jaw muscles worked feverishly as he worked through the blind rage and desperate need to _protect_ , but finally his form relaxed, and he offered a small, stiff nod. Harry could see both girls relax slightly, but Harry was still on his guard. He'd rather be hyper-paranoid now, rather than not be and possibly regret it later. “Well, I'll make some tea, then?” Hermione's cheery tone was so painfully forced that Harry almost winced.

“Er—all right, go ahead Hermione.” She gave him a strange, conspiratorial smile and swept past everyone and headed for the kitchen. Uncertain what she was up to, he decided it would be best to move the others to back to the sitting room and see would he could do about defusing the situation.

With Ginny at his back, Harry shepherded the agitated werewolf back into the sitting room, just as Hermione returned with a floating tea tray. Harry returned to his spot on the sofa, but his stomach gave a funny sort of jolt as both Ginny and Remus went to sit next to him at the same time. In a move born of his budding Auror instincts, he threw an Impediment Jinx at Remus. This proved to be the right move, as the second the werewolf had realized what Ginny was about to do, he lurched forward as though to attack her. Alarmed, she backed off quickly and sat down heavily in one of the available armchairs, looking rather hurt.

“Remus,” Harry said, standing up and staring down the frozen werewolf, knowing full-well that he could hear him. “I need you to please _calm down_. No one is here to take—anything from you, nor are they here for anything more malicious than tea and biscuits. Sit.” By the time Harry had finished speaking the jinx had worn off, and Remus sat down heavily on the sofa. He did not appear fazed by the reprimand, but he still did not take his eyes off the two girls, as though he expected them to suddenly spring forward and attack. Harry sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, but he knew that this would do little to deter Remus, and wasn't surprised when he felt a strong, masculine arm pin Harry to his side.

Harry looked over to Ginny apologetically, and her expression had grown hard in a way that told Harry she was likely trying to keep her emotions in check. Despite her own feeling regarding the situation, she seemed to understand and nodded a little as Hermione pushed cups of tea on all of them. Harry accepted his gladly for something to do with his hands and to distract him from the arm around him. Remus accepted the cup reluctantly from Hermione, one hard look from Harry all but dared him to do anything else.

The quartet drank in tense silence, though Harry did not miss how Hermione's eyes were fixed almost constantly on Remus, who had moved his arm again in order to resume stroking Harry's back. Harry felt himself go very red at Remus's casual touch, feeling incredibly guilty about the man doing such a thing to him right in front of Ginny. He tried to convey his regret to her silently, but she refused to meet his gaze. Embarrassing as it was, he felt as though he was rooted to the spot, and he couldn't seem to form a word of protest to Remus's constant physical contact. Though if he had, Harry seriously doubted Remus would listen to him anyway.

“I think we should discuss what happens next,” Hermione said, her fear betraying her by the faintest quiver in her tone as she set down her empty teacup. Harry reached forward and grabbed a biscuit and began picking it apart, but not really eating it. He sucked the icing off his fingertips absentmindedly, but when he caught Remus watching the action with another intense stare, he quickly stopped.

“Remus?” Hermione's timid voice seemed to cut through the cloud lust fogging the man's brain, and he refocused his attention on Hermione. The hand on Harry's back shifted to his shoulder and squeezed tightly in a clear wolfish display that said to everyone present, _Harry is mine._ Harry bowed his head, his embarrassment radiating off him in waves.

“As I was saying, Remus,” she continued timidly, while Harry felt the man's hand tense on his shoulder again, “we should discuss what happens next. I'm fairly certain what you need from Harry is well beyond him at the moment. Wouldn't you agree?” _She means sex,_ Harry thought in a wild moment of panic, _God, could this_ get _any more embarrassing?_

“I—I don't want to hurt Harry, I'm sure you all know that.” Remus's voice was halting, as though speaking to Hermione civilly was a great strain on him. “It's...difficult.” Remus's voice sounded strange, more nasally and groggy than his usual tone as he continued. “I—I cannot see anything, I cannot _sense_ anything beyond Harry, and his...accidental claim to me.” He paused, and his hand slid down Harry's back, only to rest limply very near to his bum. Harry jerked forward with a start, but Remus did not seem to notice.

“I know, Remus,” Hermione said gently, as Harry chanced a glance up to see Ginny watching him, her expression jumping from betrayal to sympathy and back again. Looking at her gave Harry a strange sense of whiplash, and he refocused his gaze on the table. “But I need you to try and focus for a moment. You are scaring people who care about you, people who want to help.”

“I—I know, Hermione, I'm well aware of—” But whatever Remus was aware of was not made known as he suddenly slumped against Harry in a dead sleep. Harry pushed him off and he flopped down bonelessly onto the sofa, while Harry stared wide-eyed from Hermione to Ginny. They both looked rather pleased with themselves.

“What just happened?” Smirking a little, Hermione drew out an empty vial from the inside of her robes, the remnants of some sort of purple potion clinging to the inside. Harry recognized it at once as Dreamless Sleep.

“It'll wear off in an hour or so, we figured it'd be easier to talk without a werewolf clinging to you.” She drew out her wand and pointed it at Remus. “ _Mobilicorpus_ ,” she muttered, and Remus's dead weight lifted a few inches off of the sofa.

“Upstairs,” Harry said when she looked to him for direction, “I had Regulus's old room converted into guest quarters.” She nodded once, and proceeded to conduct Remus's body out into the hall and up the stairs.

The moment Harry head Hermione's footsteps fade away, he looked to Ginny, and he felt his heart break a little. She had never been much of a crier, for which Harry had always been grateful, but now her eyes were glassy and she was smiling at him sadly. He stood, and in an instant his arms were full of her. He held Ginny close, inhaling the smell of of rainwater, of the musk of the Quidditch uniform she still wore, and of _her_. He clung to her more tightly, and she did not wait long to pull Harry in for a kiss. It was not gentle, but hungry and mournful, they both knowing that it was the beginning of the end—for both of them.

Harry drew out the kiss for as long as he could before Ginny pulled back, reluctance in her every movement. Her eyes met his, her mouth pressed into a thin line, “I know you have a choice to make,” she said, her voice remarkably steady, “and I know you're too damn noble for your own good to let Remus continue to suffer the way he has been suffering.” Her voice cracked a little at the end, and he leaned in to pressed his forehead into hers.

“Ginny, I don't want this. I want _you._ ” Harry held her close, relishing the feel of her body moulded into his, and feeling the terrible anguish of what he was being asked to give up—again.

Harry stared down a her sadly, his fingers laced with hers, any hope he had for a future with her lost. He struggled to stay focused on the present instead of the lost future he may have had with her, and Harry forced his gaze back up to meet her eyes. “What happened? How did Remus get to you?” She sighed heavily, casting her gaze towards the crackling fire, her fingers tightening in his.

“I don't know. To be honest I thought he'd stay closer to here but...” She shrugged, guilt lining her face. “I had finished the tryout, I was getting ready to apparate...” Harry could feel a shiver run through her, though he couldn't tell if it was from cold or an emotional response. “I...He came out of nowhere, grabbed me at the last second.” Harry felt slightly sick as he turned his head from Ginny's pleading gaze and images from days long past filling his mind in seconds. The Ministry, Polyjuice Potion, the Locket...Yaxley...Ron, splinched—Harry shook his head several times, but the images did not immediately fade. “Harry?” Ginny's voice sounded very far away. “Harry, are you all right?”

Harry shook his head again, and slowly his mind returned to the present. “Fine—I, yeah, fine.” Ginny eyed him curiously, her eyes narrowing as he tried to force a reassuring smile. He shook his head, “what Remus did to you—it just brought back some bad memories, that's all.” Her gaze softened and she nodded, offering him another squeeze of his hand. This was part of what he loved about Ginny, the fact that she wouldn't interrogate him, she wouldn't insist that he _share_ —she would wait patiently, and gave Harry the choice whether or not to share the harrowing memories of his year Horcrux hunting with her.

“It's not your fault,” Harry said at last after several minutes of tense silence. “That Remus found you, I mean.” Ginny looked away sadly, and Harry knew at once that she didn't believe it. “He's—he's a werewolf, heightened senses and all that. With this... _claim_ thing, it's pretty obvious that they're more attuned to—to me.” Harry cringed at his stammer, “I dunno if you heard him, but...”

“—he could smell you on me, I know.” They both blushed a deep shade of scarlet, just as Hermione returned, her expression difficult to read, as she was quite obviously pleased that the plan had worked so well, but she clearly hadn't lost sight that problem had yet to be solved completely.

“Well,” she said as she strode across the room, “I hope I'm not interrupting something really personal,” she grinned, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Ron's beginning to rub off on you, I see.” Hermione smirked a little at her comment, but didn't verbally respond as she extricated a thick wad of parchment from inside her robes and tossed it onto the table between them. She sat down in the armchair opposite before she explained, “that's all the cross-checked information on this bond I could find, from reliable sources as well as a few bonded couples I could locate.” She grimaced a little at the last comment, but didn't elaborate. Harry stared at the parchment, held together not with twine, but a muggle bull-clip. It had to be at least as thick as _Hogwarts, a History_ in Hermione's tiny, neat handwriting. Harry pulled it towards him, and flicked idly through the pages, staring at it in wonder.

“You did all of this in two days?” Ginny pressed her lips into a thin line at Harry's comment, clearly trying to keep from laughing, while Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Being a Trainee Unspeakable _does_ have its privileges, you know.” She smirked, and this time Harry took his turn at an eye-roll. While he wanted to ask, he knew she couldn't—and wouldn't—explain. Harry began flipping through the notes again, but it all seemed to blur before his eyes as his panic set in again.

“What do we know, then?” Ginny filled in for Harry, and he turned to give her a grateful smile.

“Well,” Hermione leaned forward and plucked the novel of notes out of Harry's hands and flipped through it, “most of what we told you was fairly accurate, possessiveness, jealousy, et cetera. There's also a couple cases of the bond, well, not _breaking,_ but of the werewolf blocking it. It's not really clear how they do it, but the results can be pretty nasty...”

Hermione stopped on a page with a print of what was clearly an emaciated human being, with several blocks of texts below it. “The humans in those situations...they just _stopped._ They stopped eating, stopped drinking fluids, stopped sleeping, and eventually they just die of dehydration and starvation. Nothing gets through to them apparently,” Hermione frowned, “it seems like whether the human knows it or not, they depend a _lot_ more on the werewolf than they'll realize until something like that happens.”

Harry swallowed thickly as he tried to work through what she was telling him, but before he could even begin to process what he was being told, she steamrolled forward. “There's also some stuff about other phases of the moon...” She began to flick through the pages again, “...ah, here.” She stopped at a page about halfway through her notes, turned the whole thing round, and pushed it across the table so Harry could see.

Stuck to a piece of parchment with a sticking charm was a white piece of muggle paper, with a slightly hazy picture of the various phases of the moon, followed by blocks of detailed notes. At first, he wasn't certain what he was seeing, then he shifted his gaze up to her.

“Did you seriously photocopy a magical text?” Hermione went very red.

“I was in a rush, and that's not the point, Harry! Would you just shut up and read what it says?” Snickering, he refocused his attention on her notes, while he tuned out the sound of Hermione explaining the term _photocopy_ to Ginny.

 

_Phases of the Moon and Their Effects on Human-Werewolf Bonds_

_Dark of the Moon/New Moon: Time of Rest. Bond will not be as strong, nor will the pull be as insistent. Claimed Werewolf will be more coherent, and possibly less domineering—sources unclear. Sources state varying levels of independency during this phase, some bonded werewolves feel more clear-headed and desire time away from their mate, though generally never more than a couple of hours at most. Status of the Bond also a factor. Potential who has not reciprocated will likely be subject to their claimed werewolf needing to be physically close to them, rather than distant._

_Waxing Moon: Time of Fertility. Heightened arousal, more intense desire for physical closeness; unlike the New Moon phase, the claimed werewolf will desire sexual stimulation. No cases of sexual assault or rape—but with a potential who has yet to accept their mate, the reactions of the werewolf are unclear. Possessiveness and jealousy heightened, any strange smells the claimed werewolf does not associate with themselves can cause dangerous reactions: Cases of the werewolf seeking out the individual who touched their mate. Very few deaths, but many cases of violent assault. Waxing moon will affect Homosexual Bonds in the same way as Heterosexual ones, with the exception of the desire to breed._

_Half Moon: Time of Claim. Following the claim, this phase may incite more pronounced feelings of dominance in the werewolf; in particular a desire to re-stake the claim upon their potential. This can take many forms, though the most frequent is of a sexual nature. Following moonrise the werewolf may feel the need to dominate their potential, most commonly with a sex act. To Reiterate: No cases of sexual assault or rape have ever been reported. The nature of the dominating act(s) will vary depending on the werewolf in question, as well as the status of the bond._

_Full Moon: Time of Change. One of the few phases where the potential_ may _feel the bond's effects. Many cases of reluctant partners succumbing to the [sexual] needs of their werewolf during daylight hours preceding moonrise. Following the change, werewolf needs to be in the presence of their mate. Even without wolfsbane they will not attack their potential. The bonding magic paired with the desire to protect will eclipse any violent natures the werewolf may be privy to. Very dangerous for outsiders._

_Waning Moon: Time of Destruction. Emotional needs of the werewolf more pronounced. Will desire emotional closeness with their mate. This often takes the form of the werewolf requiring reassurance of their potential's feelings towards them. At this time, the werewolf is often more sensitive than usual and this may result in exaggerated reactions to words and actions often brushed off during the other phases of the Moon. Emotional exhaustion often follows, with the werewolf sleeping longer than usual, (12h-16h) and will desire the physical closeness of their mate, though not necessarily sexually. Weakened state will incite vivid dreams and nightmares. The physical contact paired with the magic of the bond will calm the werewolf's mind and ease their subconscious._

_As the Bond settles and becomes more ingrained in the lives of involved parties, it will become less all-encompassing and they will be able to return to their normal lives. Some allowances must be made for certain phases, however._

 

Harry set down the notes, feeling rather sick. He pushed them across the table, then buried his face in his hands. Harry felt completely and utterly exhausted—physically as well as emotionally, and his thoughts of the injustice of it all returned in full measure. _I defeated Voldemort,_ he thought miserably, _I literally died for the cause. I did_ everything _that was asked of me. Why can't the Fates just let me have a life that's actually_ mine _?_ A hand rested on his shoulder, and he shivered. Harry knew it was Ginny, but the reminder that she would soon have to be cast from his life filled him with the all-too-familiar feeling of grief. _How_ could he do this, really? The prospect of what was expected of him for the sake of Remus's life and sanity were no more appealing than they had been when he had first discovered what his crass mistake had cost him. When he did not respond, Ginny slowly retracted her hand.

“Harry,” Hermione's voice cut through his self-pity, and he looked up at her reluctantly. She gave him a hard look, and he swallowed thickly as he stared back.

“What?”

“I know this isn't...er...an ideal situation—”

“—Understatement of the year,” Harry muttered, cutting her off. Hermione glared at him, and it was dangerous enough that he snapped his mouth shut and allowed her to continue.

“You need to make a decision Harry,” she said firmly, leaving no room for Harry to protest. “Now that Remus has broken the Fidelius Charm, he won't be going anywhere. When he wakes, I don't know what he'll be like, but I think it might be best if...uninvolved parties are elsewhere.” She cast a meaningful glance towards Ginny, then continued, “I won't tell you what to do, that's between you and Remus. But you will need to make a decision, and soon.” Without another word, Hermione stood and circled around the coffee table. She paused briefly to give Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and swept out of the room. Harry distantly heard the front door open and close, followed by the muffled _crack_ of her disapparating.

Harry pulled his legs up on the sofa, knees bent, and he promptly buried his face in the top of his thighs with a groan. He heard Ginny huff impatiently, and made short work of pushing his legs off the cushions and forced Harry to meet her gaze. “Harry, stop stalling,” she acted as though she wanted to glare at him, but it seemed as though she didn't have it in her to do so. “You know the facts. Hermione practically wrote you a novel on the subject, for heaven's sake. Choose Remus, and he'll live. Choose me, and he descends into madness, or tears me apart—whichever comes first.” She smiled sadly, “but Harry, I _know_ you. I know you well enough to know that this...” she waved her arm significantly between them, “is over. You'd never let someone hurt if you had it in you to save them.”

Harry drew her into a tight hug. His eyes stung, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, wishing he didn't have to let her go. It just wasn't _fair._

His head lifted and his mouth found hers. Harry cradled the back of her head gently, and he could feel Ginny's tears against his own cheek. She inched closer, clinging to him as tightly as he clung to her. All too soon, the kiss broke. “I'm sorry,” he murmured weakly, his voice very close to breaking as he reached up to brush a solitary tear track from her cheek with his thumb.

“I know,” Ginny kissed him one last time, drawing it out as long as she could. She stood and Harry followed suit, holding hands until they reached the door. Harry felt a great weight settle on him as he watched her sadly.

“I—I'll give you time, but if, er, when this thing is settled, I hope we can be friends.” Ginny smiled sadly, and squeezed his hand.

“I'd like that, Harry. I was your friend before, I will be after. But I _will_ need some time.”

“I know,” he said quickly, not ignorant to how hard this must be for her. The words _I love you_ were on the tip of Harry's tongue, and it took a great effort to keep himself from vocalizing them. It seemed too cruel to say that to her now.

With one last bone-crushing hug, Ginny reluctantly untangled herself from Harry and slipped out the door, and with a _crack_ she was gone.

Harry stared at the door for several long moments, wondering if she'd abandon her resolve and come back. With a heavy sigh, he turned and ascended the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was really, really nervous about posting this chapter, mostly because I was worried you guys would find it somewhat anticlimactic. I really hope it lives up to your expectations!


	6. Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you guys so, so, so much for all the lovely comments you have left thus far. It really brightens my day, and it's so flattering to find that people actually enjoy my work. Here is the next chapter, again another long one. Enjoy!

Chapter 6 – Needs

 

Harry reached the top landing and veered away from his bedroom to stop first and check on Remus. Inside Regulus's old room, Hermione had arranged him comfortably on his back on top of the checkered duvet. His chest was rising and falling in a soft, rhythmic pattern, and his head was tilted to the side and partially burrowed into the pillow he lay on.

In this state, it amazed Harry how peaceful he looked, and nothing like the rabid animal he'd resembled not half an hour earlier. Harry was certain that beyond the reprieve his drugged sleep offered to Harry from whatever was to come of this bond, Remus likely needed the rest. As quietly as he could, Harry shut the door and padded down the hall to the master bedroom, which he'd converted into his own room.

Harry wandered into the bedroom with his head drooped forward sadly, and he made a beeline for the wardrobe. Harry pulled it open, his robes and muggle clothes were all jumbled together in a mess at the bottom of the wardrobe, with only a handful of garments actually _on_ the hangers. Harry pushed the hangers and clothing aside and flicked his wand, a tiny compartment appearing at the back of the wardrobe. He pulled it open and extracted a small box covered in red velvet.

Harry cracked the box open to display a thin gold ring, embedded with a single diamond in the centre. The sight of it pulled at his heartstrings painfully as he murmured to it, “what am I going to do with you?” His voice cracked slightly while he stared at the piece of jewellery. He glanced at the bin next to his writing desk, but though it was useless to him now, he couldn't bring himself to part with it. He sighed heavily and snapped the box shut and tucked away the ring in the drawer of his night table, vowing to deal with it later.

The more pressing problem was Ginny's things. Scattered about the room Harry could see her clothes, books, mementos, and cosmetics all over the place. Harry had a feeling Remus might not act favourably to the sight of them, and so with a heavy heart he transfigured a few sheets of blank parchment into a thick cardboard box. He then proceeded to summon her things from around the bedroom with lazy flicks of his wand. Harry repeated the process in the bathroom, and with each item he banished to The Box, the more hollow he felt.

Harry sealed the lot with spellotape and a fireproofing charm, then drafted a quick letter detailing the contents and the box, as well as fervent apologies to Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys for returning her things in such a cold, impersonal matter. Harry sealed the letter and added it to the top of the box, then used a hover charm to bring it down to the main level. He spent a minute unblocking the Floo connection, and set down the box in the fire.

“The Burrow,” Harry said it as clearly as he could in his shattered emotional state, and tossed in a handful of glittering powder. With a flash of green, it was gone.

 

With nothing else pressing for the moment, Harry was at a loss for what to do with himself. He glanced to the staircase, but there was no sound to indicate whether or not his house guest had woken up. He fell onto the sofa with another heavy sigh and pulled Hermione's tome of notes towards him.

Most of it was rubbish that only Hermione would deem important—History, Human/Werewolf vs Werewolf/Werewolf Claims, Werewolf Hierarchies...But he found himself stopping over a certain passage that gave him pause.

 

_The presence of possessiveness, jealousy, and the need to dominate are the main focus of many case studies concerning the Werewolf Mate Claims. Perhaps this is due to the fact that initially, they are the most commonly seen reactions following the claim. However, the devotion bordering on reverence that many werewolves feel for their potential is almost never discussed. The reaction is near-instantaneous, and similar to the concept of Love At First Sight, but much more powerful._

 

The idea of Remus being in _love_ with him was a very difficult concept for Harry to wrap his mind around. The thought made Harry feel uneasy, and he shivered a little while he stared sadly into the glowing embers of the fire. It wasn't _real_ love, but the magic of the bond forcing Remus to feel that way. The realization made Harry feel, if possible, even more depressed. He tossed Hermione's notes back onto the table, leant back, and closed his eyes. The excitement of the day had utterly exhausted him, and he quickly fell into a light doze.

 

When Harry woke the thunderstorm had officially blown itself out, and he could see the moon shining high in the sky amongst the scattered pinpricks of the stars. The fire had been built back up, and his hazy waking shifted to alarm almost at once, as he did not recall falling asleep with his head on a pillow—a pillow that was uncharacteristically warm...and moving. Harry blinked a few times, and realized that someone was stroking his hair. His muddled, half-asleep brain could not put two and two together at first, but after a moment he lurched up from Remus's lap with an exaggerated gasp, his hand clutching the fabric of his T-shirt over his heart, the organ itself beating out a vicious rhythm from his shock at waking up with his head in a grown man's lap.

“ _JesusfuckingChrist,_ ” Harry breathed, sitting up and bowing forward a little. “You scared me to death,” Harry took a few deep breaths, while Remus bowed his head a little in shame, looking very much in that moment like a dog that had been scolded.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Remus spoke to his lap, his fingers twisted together and fidgety, as though sitting still was a real chore. Having a feeling that he knew why the older man was so agitated, Harry took a breath to steady himself, and reached over to take one of his hands. Remus's gaze shot up to meet Harry's at once, his eyes wide with surprise, but Harry did not miss how his entire body relaxed the moment their hands touched. Remus shifted his grip to thread their fingers together, and squeezed Harry's hand gently. It still felt incredibly strange to be holding hands with the older man, but he was determined to not make this harder than it had to be.

“It's all right, Remus, I just...I wasn't expecting you.” Remus gave him a significant look, and Harry realized at once that the werewolf did not mean the apology to be just for Harry's scare. “You mean...oh.” Harry blushed a little and looked away to stare into the crackling fire. “It's...it's all right. I mean, It's...” Harry shook his head and heaved a sigh while he raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair, mussing it up much more than usual. “I don't know what it is, Remus.”

Harry turned back to him, the older man looking no different than he had in his third year, in the same tatty brown cardigan and brown slacks a few shades darker, his face lined and scarred but not wholly unattractive, and the streaks of grey intermingled with the light brown more pronounced than they had been in earlier years. Harry felt so confused by the whole situation, and once more the idea that he was expected to become intimate with him crossed his mind again and he felt himself go red.

“I understand, Harry. I know you meant well, however, now we have...” He trailed off, looking away from Harry with such an intense look on his face that Harry had a feeling that Remus was trying to _not_ look at him. “...Something of a problem.”

 “That'd be an understatement,” Harry muttered, his mouth twitching into a small smirk. Remus chuckled a little to his response and eased back against the sofa. His thumb brushed across the back of Harry's hand that he still held, but he made no move to close the distance between them, for which Harry was grateful. “You seem...calmer,” he observed, and Remus looked up, refocusing his honeyed gaze on the younger man. “Than before, I mean,” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, feeling strangely exposed under the man's stare.

“You are the only other person here. I have no one to protect you from, and so for the moment that side of the claim is placated. There are other elements we will need to discuss, when you are ready.” Harry swallowed thickly at the words and pulled his knees into his chest, untangling his hand from Remus's hold to close his arms around them a little more tightly than was necessary. Harry nodded stiffly, and tried to ignore the pained look of longing that Remus regarded him with while he stared into the crackling fire.

“I don't...” Harry swallowed thickly, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Remus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the older man shift, but he made no move to approach Harry. “I mean, in some ways this could've been a lot worse, but...” he closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to clear his thoughts, though it didn't seem to help as much as he'd hoped. “I don't want to hurt you with this thing. I want to do what I can to help you through it, but I'm...scared, too.”

“I would be amazed if you weren't. I am very grateful to you, Harry. I am not ignorant to what you had to sacrifice for this.” His voice was even, almost emotionless, but the sentiment was clear. Harry shifted his gaze and readjusted his position so that he was sitting cross-legged on the sofa and stared back at Remus, who was regarding him with a look Harry couldn't place.

“I just want to know,” Harry was relieved that he managed to keep the tremor from his voice, “what do you expect, or maybe _need_ from this...this...thing? I mean, I've read up on the claim, but it's a lot to take in.” Remus smiled a little, while Harry chewed nervously at the side of his lower lip. The older man reached out with slow, deliberate movements, and took both of Harry's hands in his own. His callused thumbs ghosted across the backs of Harry's hands, making him shiver.

“As of right now, it is difficult to say how I will be with you until things progress and the bond between us calms. That will only come with...” he trailed off when Harry's face burned, though he didn't comment on the reaction. “At the moment, my instincts are demanding I be close to you, physically. That doesn't mean contact you feel that you are not ready for,” Remus locked his gaze with Harry's. Harry felt almost as though he had been caught by the amber eyes, like the proverbial deer in headlights. “Know this, Harry: I will never force myself on you. My instincts push me to be dominant of my partner, but that is not a euphemism for force.”

Harry looked down at their intertwined hands, his face still rather red. It looked so strange to Harry, and though he could feel the warm, rough hands holding his, it almost felt as though he was disconnected from it, like he was watching it happen to someone else.

He looked up reluctantly and met Remus's eyes as he spoke, “what about during the waxing moon and the day of the full moon, before moonrise I mean? Hermione's research covered a lot of things around that time period that I don't think I'd be ready to...participate in.” Harry felt his face burn again, silently kicking himself for his inability to mask his feelings more effectively.

“It is true that my, er, desires will be heightened at that time, but I am not a mindless creature enslaved to passion.” Remus smiled weakly at Harry, though this time he was unable to return it. “I can wait, Harry.”

Harry sighed heavily and leaned back against the cushions, his gaze again shifting to the crackling fire. He pulled back his hands, Remus's hands tensing over his for a half-second, as though he wasn't going to let Harry go. He relented however, and Harry crossed his arms across his chest while he tried to process everything that had happened over the last few days. More than anything, he felt incredibly guilty about how his reluctance to be close with the man might be perceived.

“I'm sorry Remus,” Harry said at last, “you're not...unappealing, and I don't mean to make this sound like I've been bonded—claimed, whatever you want to call it—to a grindylow or something. I just...” Harry trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to quell the comment perched on the tip of his tongue. _I just thought I'd always be with Ginny. God, I miss her._ Harry shook his head and tried to banish the thought, with little success. There was nothing he could do about that now, and he needed to move forward, as difficult as that was. Harry tilted his head back and pressed it into the upholstery of the sofa while he stared at the ceiling. He tried again to organize his thoughts, but it was still a jumbled mess of emotions.

Harry heard the leather creak, and he felt Remus's hand slip into his own for the third time that evening, squeezing it reassuringly. Harry lifted his head, and though Remus had shifted so close to him that he could feel the werewolf's body heat, he was being careful to give Harry his space. Harry returned the hand squeeze weakly, but he was at a loss for what he should do next. “How come you're not as...touchy-feely as before?” Harry recalled how the man had embraced him earlier, and the stark contrast struck Harry as rather odd. “I mean, when things first...happened, you couldn't stop touching me.” Harry felt himself go red again, but he forced himself to continue, “but now you seem more, I dunno, under control.”

“At the time I was half out of my mind. My instincts were in overdrive, and the need to find you was the only thing I could focus on.” Remus shifted his hand so that his fingers twined with Harry's; while it still felt very strange, Harry did not resist the contact. “When I _did_ find you, my instincts shifted to Claim. I _needed_ you, and I needed to express that claim. I would not have been able to control that desire completely, no matter how strongly I fought it.” His thumb brushed once over the back of Harry's hand, and he could not help but notice how different the callused skin of the digit felt from Ginny's.

“I thought it might be something like that,” Harry said, his voice barely above a nervous mumble. “I'm not upset about it, exactly, it was just very strange.” Harry grimaced, staring down at their intertwined fingers as he tried to push away thoughts of his girlfriend. _Ex-girlfriend_ , he reminded himself bitterly, wishing he had had the nerve to ask Hermione to place a Memory Charm on him. Maybe this whole thing would be easier if he couldn't remember her.

Harry felt the corners of his eyes burn, and he hissed a curse. Harry lurched away from Remus, and yanked off his glasses with his left hand, while he pressed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand against his tear ducts. He would _not_ cry in front of the man. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not bothering to look up to see if Remus was still there, “I just...it's been a stressful couple of days.” He looked up and put his glasses back on, and Remus was giving him The Stare again—intense longing, conflicting self-restraint and guilt rolled into one confusing look that made Harry feel hot all over. “I—er—I should go to bed.” He stood up quickly, “er, if it's easier on the bond, you're welcome to stay in the guest room.” Remus smiled at him, and nodded once. Harry turned and began to head for the hall.

“Harry,” he turned at the sound of his name, arching a brow at the werewolf questioningly, “it would be advisable that you lock your door tonight. Sleep well.”

With that unsettling piece of advice, Harry hastened to the safety of his bedroom.

 

~*~

 

Harry woke the next morning feeling like he hadn't slept at all. He was groggy and felt grimy, as though he'd been covered in a thin layer of dust. Harry sat up with a groan, his back cracking in several spots in protest to the sudden movement. He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and crammed them onto his face as he stumbled toward the door.

In Harry's half-asleep haze, it took him a moment to remember why his door had been locked and warded. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he cast the necessary spells to cancel them out, and he staggered out into the hall. Harry ambled towards the loo, stifling a cavernous yawn as he went.

He did what he needed to do, splashed cold water onto his face to aid in his waking, but the groggy feeling refused to leave him. Resigning himself to the fact that it would likely just be one of those off days, he turned and headed back towards his bedroom. He stopped short however when his eyes fell upon the most peculiar sight just outside his bedroom door, and he was amazed that he hadn't noticed it earlier.

Remus was in a deep sleep and curled up just outside his bedroom door, with his back pressed against the wall. There were more than a few distinctive crescent nail marks gouged into the wood of the door and its frame. Harry was deeply unsettled by the sight and he was uncertain what to make of it—had the claim compelled him to sleep there, or was it some sort of protection thing? Harry felt renewed guilt pool in the pit of his stomach at the sight. The werewolf stirred, and his bleary gaze found Harry, and it was immediately drawn to his half-naked form, and Harry felt the heat rise in his face.

Harry had given no thought to wandering to the loo at the crack of dawn in only a pair of low-hanging pyjama bottoms, a pair that were slightly too large and hung precariously off his hips. Clearly, he should have, if the hungry look in Remus's eyes was anything to go by. Crossing one arm over his chest, he mumbled a hurried apology and rushed into his room, closing the door sharply behind him.

Harry had not heard Remus leave, but when he stepped out of his room twenty minutes later—now more appropriately dressed—Remus was nowhere to be seen. Harry padded down to the main level, and found Remus hiding behind the morning edition of the _Prophet_ , and—most strangely—a steaming pot of lamb stew and day-old bread was on the breakfast table. Harry shot a questioning look to the elf, who was laying out dishes for himself and Remus. “Master Harry did not have dinner last night. The Black line is proud, but we does not waste food.” Snorting with amusement, he fell heavily into the chair across from the werewolf. Kreacher served Harry, and after shooting a scathing look towards Remus, he disappeared with a _crack_.

“I get the impression Kreacher likes me less now than he did when Grimmauld Place was being used as Order Headquarters,” Remus mused. By his tone, Harry guessed that he was intent on avoiding the subject of their awkward start to the day.

“It might have something to do with you accosting his master, he'll get over it.” Harry spoke conversationally with laughter in his tone while he ripped a chunk of bread off from the whole and dunked it into the broth of the stew, then crammed it into his mouth. He saw the guilty look on the older man's face and Harry frowned, swallowing the mouthful quickly before he spoke again “damn, Remus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way, I just—” he cut himself off with a small shake of his head while he cursed his apparent foot-in-mouth disease.

Silence fell between them, and while Harry tried multiple times to engage Remus in conversation, they frequently tapered off, leaving a heavy awkward silence between them. It was clear that the accidental bond had utterly shattered their previous relationship, and Harry felt as though he was getting to know the man for the first time. It left Harry with his head feeling uncomfortably full, and he had no idea how to even begin to address the situation before him.

 

Following breakfast, Harry gathered up the paperwork the Auror Office had sent along, and moved to the sitting room in an effort to work. It was overcast and miserable out, but somehow seeing the outside world at all made Harry feel marginally better. Rubbing his tired eyes a little, he tore off the brown paper and opened the folder and began the arduous task of going over the dry reports that had come with his work for the day.

Much to Harry's surprise, Remus left him alone. He wondered if the older man was attempting to be considerate in trying not to pester him while he worked despite what the bond was likely trying to compel him to do, but Harry could still hear him puttering about nearby. Harry's awareness of Remus's presence made it very difficult to focus on Mr Palmer's case file, and his mind kept drifting over to the thick sheaf of notes that had been left on the coffee table from the night before.

Even though Harry's work as an Auror was important to him and always would be, he felt as though the claim-bond- _thing_ was the more pressing matter at the moment. He'd skimmed Hermione's notes, but he felt very much as though his understanding of the bond was sketchy at best. It unsettled Harry how little he felt he understood about the bond, yet how seriously its presence in his life would affect his future.

Coming to a decision, Harry tossed his paid work aside and pulled the notes into his lap. Starting at the beginning this time, he began to read. 

 

~*~

 

Harry could not remember the last time he'd felt so awkward. The day had passed him by, and now he sat across from his unnervingly silent house guest who was determinedly avoiding his eye. Kreacher had served them, grumbling and shooting nasty glares in Remus's direction the entire time, and after eating in dead, tense silence for nearly ten minutes, Harry had had enough.

“Remus, we need to discuss this,” Remus looked up, his expression riddled with guilt. Harry frowned, and tried to not let the wounded puppy look get to him. Harry was as keen to discuss the bond as Remus seemed to be, but they needed to stop skirting around the topic. “I've been doing some reading,” Harry began, after a long moment of silence, “and I want to...I _need_ to know what you need from me, what will help you with this claim...bond...thing.” The werewolf looked away again, putting off answering by cramming a chunk of roast beef into his mouth.

“I need...contact,” he said at last, not looking at Harry as he spoke. “Physical touch and emotional closeness,” Remus stared at him, the guilty expression never leaving his face. “I can go forward with this as slowly as you need, Harry. There is no need to push yourself in order to help me.” He spoke in a monotone, and his eyes darted down to the plate before him. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, doing his best to mask his nervousness. He'd agreed to go forward with this, after all, and they needed to start somewhere.

“Emotional closeness...would perhaps moving in here help that at all?” Remus's gaze shot back up, eyes wide with surprise. “I mean, since this... _thing_ is in a lot of ways like a...” Harry felt himself go red again, “...like a marriage, it would make sense for you to bring your belongings here, right?”

“It may help, I'm not certain, but...thank you, Harry.” He smiled, and Harry felt as though he looked a good ten years younger with that expression. Harry mirrored his smile.

“You should do that more often, you know.”

“Thank you?”

“Smile.”

 

They passed the rest of the meal in silence, though the atmosphere was less tense and more comfortable. Harry stood and stretched, the dirty dishes disappearing as they were transported back to the kitchen, and a platter with a pot of tea and two mugs replaced them. Harry flicked his wand, and the platter levitated off the table. “D'you want to join me for a nightcap?” Harry didn't wait for a response, and instead conducted the platter out into the sitting room.

Harry eased back onto the sofa, cradling a steaming mug in his hands, while Remus wandered in a few minutes later. He served himself and added so much milk to his own cup that the brew turned almost completely white, and he eased down next to Harry. The sensation of being physically close with Remus was still bizarre to him, but it was not as terrifying as it had been the day before. Remus hesitated for half a moment, then shifted and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. His movements froze, as though he had only just realized what he'd done, and looked down to Harry who could feel that his face was warm from the familiar contact. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah...er, yes. It's all right.” Harry wasn't entirely certain he believed his own words, and he sipped his tea while his gaze shifted to the crackling flames in the grate. The experience of being held in this manner was not wholly uncomfortable, and Harry felt deeply ashamed at that realization. He'd broke it off with Ginny barely twenty-four hours earlier, and now he was enjoying the touch of another, and not just any other, but a man twice his age? Harry didn't know what to make of it.

Remus's thumb brushed lightly over Harry's shoulder, and he felt his shoulders slump as he began to relax. Harry sipped his tea and cast furtive glances to the man next to him, and he did seem better than he had at dinner, though Harry couldn't explain how he knew. Was this all because of the physical contact? Was this claim-thing that easily sated? Harry eased further into the embrace, and he felt Remus tense momentarily in surprise. His arm curled more securely around Harry, and he did not fail to notice the possessive edge to the embrace. It was not unexpected, but Harry couldn't work out how he felt about it.

Harry sat with Remus long after their tea had gone cold. Harry had no anxieties about his attraction to men, but he'd never actually been with one. He hadn't really considered the mechanics of it, but finding himself thrown into a submissive role had been unexpected, to put it mildly. It was not wholly uncomfortable, and Harry was quickly finding that he was enjoying the concept of letting someone else take charge, even if it was something as simple as a casual embrace. He had allowed his mind to drift, but soon it came back to Ginny, and how he'd broken up with her _yesterday_.

He felt suddenly as though he'd swallowed something wiggly, and Harry delicately extricated himself from Remus's hold, not wanting to move in a way that would make it seem as though he found the contact distasteful. He liked it, he _more_ than liked it; his guilt at that realization made him feel physically ill. “I—I better go to bed, I'm tired,” Remus blinked once, amber eyes shot with gold boring into him so intently that Harry felt himself blush for the umpteenth time that day.

“All right Harry, sleep well.”

“You too.” Harry turned and hurried up to his room.

 

~*~

 

Harry had a strange feeling that he had forgotten to do something before he'd gone to bed. In his haze of waking, he couldn't remember what exactly it was, but something told him it was important—this thing that he had forgotten. The arm that embraced him curled against his abdomen, and Harry decided to address the forgotten thing later; he felt warm, comfortable, and safe.

Wait...Arm?

Harry spun around to find Remus fast asleep, holding him close. Harry's abrupt movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked several times before he stared up at Harry in confusion. “Harry? What are you doing here?” Harry sputtered indignantly at the question.

“What am I—try again, Remus.” Harry sat up and watched him, his arms crossed and his face flaming. Remus looked around bemusedly, blinking his eyes several times as though his brain refused to process his immediate situation. After a solid minute, his eyes widened in understanding.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yes, _oh_. What are you doing in my bed?” Remus sat up with a small groan, dressed only in a pair of the same trousers from yesterday. Harry's eyes flitted momentarily to the scars that littered his surprisingly fit upper body, before flicking his gaze back to the werewolf's face, who was looking appropriately guilty. Harry refused to admire the older man's physique when he was supposed to be angry with him.

“Well, did you remember to lock your door like I had suggested on the first night, Harry?” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but instead he felt his jaw sag into a look of shock. Suddenly Remus outside his door yesterday morning made much more sense.

“So...this is part of it?” Harry felt like his voice sounded very small. He folded his legs under him, his duvet pooled around his hips as he shifted. Harry felt nervous, but he tried to hide it—with little success. Remus nodded once to his question.

“The bond compels me to be close to you, and part of it is the need to protect you in slumber, when you would theoretically be most vulnerable.” Remus's face tinted a faint shade of pink, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to it than just a need to protect. “I'm sorry Harry,” he bowed his head, “I didn't even realize that I had come in here.”

“We'll discuss it later,” Harry said with a sigh, while he rolled out of the bed. He grabbed a wad of clothes from his wardrobe and headed for the door, pausing when he reached the threshold, his hand resting on the wooden frame. “I'll, er, see you downstairs,” without another word, he went to shower.

 

By the time Harry had reached the main level breakfast had been laid out, though there was far more selection than Harry recalled Kreacher usually putting together in the mornings. He could see creamy scrambled eggs, caramelized cherry tomatoes, oatcakes, sausages, sourdough toast, pumpkin juice, coffee, tea, and three types of jam. Kreacher wandered past him, muttering darkly to himself. Harry blinked once in confusion, certain that he'd heard the elf say something about 'nasty werewolves' in passing.

Harry ventured into the adjoined kitchen and dining room to see Remus looking rather harassed as he flicked his wand here and there, adding still more dishes to the table. Harry pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “Are you planning on feeding the entire city of London, or do you think I've cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on my stomach?” Remus jumped and wheeled around, while Harry leaned against the frame of the door, his arms crossed. An amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the werewolf seemed to relax at Harry's calm demeanour.

“Consider this my apology for...this morning,” his cheeks tinted pink slightly, “though I don't think Kreacher was too pleased by my commandeering his kitchen.”

“How did you manage all this in twenty minutes?” Harry stared down at the platters of food, while he straightened up and moved to the table. It smelled amazing, and he was only just realizing how hungry he was.

“I'm quite handy in the kitchen, and I know more than a few Quick-Cooking Charms that don't ruin the food,” he smiled as he joined Harry at the table. Something about the expression told Harry that Remus was probably relieved that he was not raging at him. Harry helped himself to some eggs and sausages, while he tried to work through his jumble of thoughts and how to best verbalize them.

“It looks great,” Harry replied, for once meaning what he said to Remus, and not having to force his words. Remus was watching him rather intently, giving Harry the distinct impression of someone suddenly shining a spotlight on him. He began to eat, and nearly doubled over in shock. The food was beyond good, it was practically _gourmand_. “Oh my _God._ This is amazing Remus, where on earth did you learn to cook like this?” He'd spent years practically being the Dursleys' personal chef, and his cooking wasn't even half as good. Remus chuckled and began to serve himself.

“In my youth my mother worked at a place called _The Silver Spoon_ , a muggle restaurant near Diagon Alley. She would often take me along when she couldn't find someone to mind me for an afternoon or evening. The chef there taught me a lot, and I think he was pleased to have such an enthusiastic student.” He chuckled a little, though Harry thought he could note an edge of bitterness to the way he laughed. Harry stuffed another forkful of egg into his mouth, and he wondered if his mother struggled to find a sitter because of Remus's _little furry problem_. His anger flared at the injustice of it, and he struggled to keep his face neutral as he sat there. Harry was no stranger to being hated for what he was at the hands of his blood relatives, but to be subject to that at the hands of total strangers for something that wasn't his fault was a concept Harry couldn't completely wrap his mind around.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Remus's sudden voice jerked Harry from his thoughts, and he stared at Remus for a moment before it registered what the older man had asked.

“I—yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“You seemed...angry,” Remus frowned, while Harry shrugged, taking a sip from is _Chudley Cannons_ coffee mug.

“It's nothing,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, and for a moment it seemed as though Remus was going to press the matter, though after staring Harry down for a few seconds he relented and returned to his own meal.

They ate in silence, the quiet punctuated by the soft clinking of their cutlery, and the mutinous grumblings of Kreacher as he tidied up nearby. Both Harry and Remus bit back their laughter at how completely infuriated the elf was at someone else preparing breakfast for his master. “I suppose we need to discuss...this morning,” Harry said finally, trying for a casual tone of voice while he leant back in his chair and nursed a second cup of coffee. Kreacher collected the dirty dishes with several clicks of his fingers, while he glared daggers at the werewolf across from Harry. Remus's expression darkened a little at Harry's words, but he nodded.

“Harry, I—I am trying to go forward with this bond slowly, I don't want you to feel compelled to rush into something you are uncomfortable with, but I sometimes am unaware of my own actions—” Harry held up a hand, and Remus's rambling explanations came to a halt as his mouth snapped shut.

“I know Remus, and I don't blame you for what happened. It's this bond-thing, and I know you're not always in control. I won't lie, it scares me, and while I'm...er...” Harry felt his face heat, “attracted to men as well as women, we were thrown into this rather suddenly, and I need time to adjust. D'you think moving a second bed into my room would help, or would you still feel compelled to—er, crawl in with me?”

“I think the latter is far more likely, though I am not entirely certain.” Remus spoke to his knees, his voice laced with shame. Harry sighed softly and pressed his face into his free hand. While he knew that the most ideal solution was to just give in and let Remus share his bed, but Harry wasn't certain he was ready for that. Sharing with Ginny had been one thing; he'd been seeing her for a year before they'd progressed to sleepovers—much to Mrs Weasley's horror—but with Remus, the situation was entirely different.

“Maybe we should think on this and discuss it later?” Harry thought his voice sounded rather small and meek in his own ears. He took another fortifying sip of his coffee and pushed forward, not waiting for Remus's response one way or the other. “I know you said you'd go slow with, er, _me_ but how would you suggest we, er, go forward with this?” Harry bit back the comments regarding his own fears—he didn't want Remus to feel even more guilty about the situation than he already did. Remus lifted his gaze to Harry and studied him in silence for several moments. The intensity of his stare reawakened Harry's flush, and he had to look away.

“Perhaps similarly to our evening activities yesterday,” he said, lifting his teacup to his mouth and taking a long sip before he continued. “Casual contact,” he paused, his own face tinting a faint pink. Harry chewed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was rather funny to see a fully grown man flushing like a teenager.

“We can move forward with something more, erm, _intimate_ when you feel ready...” Harry whipped his face away, fairly certain that he was bright red, and any amusement he'd felt mere moments before died at once. “I don't mean anything sexual Harry,” Remus added quickly, though there was a choking start in his voice and Harry was fairly certain the man was trying to keep from laughing. “I mean hand-holding, kisses, casual embraces, that sort of thing.”

Harry turned back to Remus, eyeing him apprehensively. He'd never been with someone older—except Cho, though she barely counted—and Harry had heard horror stories of the older person in the relationship taking advantage of the younger one. His thoughts flip-flopped between _This is Remus, he'd never do something like that_ , to knowing that the wolf in him might push him to it. Was Remus genuine in his sentiments, or would he eventually grow impatient and _take_ what he wanted? Harry struggled to hide his fear.

“Harry,” Remus reached across the small table, and closed both his hands over Harry's free one. His skin felt very hot against Harry's clammy hand. “I would _never_ force you into anything. No matter what happens between us, I would never force myself on you in _any_ capacity.” Harry swallowed thickly, and he opened his hand to lace his fingers with Remus's. The contact was both alien and comforting at the same time.

“I—I know, Remus. I just—some of the notes I read...sort of, made me wonder. I don't know how to be... _you know_.” Harry felt the colour rise in his face again, but he was unable to bring himself to say _submissive_. He had always been in control in the bedroom, and the idea of being the reverse made him very nervous.

“That's not something we'll need to worry about, at least not yet. It does not mean you lose your masculinity, or you must submit to my every whim—this isn't one of those kinds of relationships. It is mutual understanding, and trust. When we're both ready, we'll discuss it at length Harry, I promise.” Harry nodded a little, but he still couldn't meet the man's eyes. He felt the warm hands let go of his, and he curled his hand into a fist to hide his trembling. He couldn't even _imagine_ bottoming with a man his own age, how was he supposed to manage it with someone like Remus?


	7. Living Conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: This chapter contains a few gory descriptions (they're not scenes in the strictest sense...), if you're the squeamish type, as well as a brief scene pretty much at the beginning of the chapter that people who are triggered by sexual assault may be squicked by, if you'd rather skip it.

Chapter 7 – Living Conditions

 

Harry sent Remus off early that day to begin bringing his things back to Grimmauld Place. He did not think much of it, given that Remus would be back and forth all day, and neither had thought the bond would be strained by it. However, the moment Harry had turned to head for the sofa, he found himself underneath a trembling, agitated werewolf.

Remus's hot breath ghosted across the back of Harry's neck, and he found that he was not just beneath Remus, but pinned down by him. He was breathing deeply, his voice escaping as a sound close to a whine, while repeated Harry's name over and over against his skin. Harry's forearms were pressed against the stone on either side of his shoulders in a bizarre sort of embrace, while his knees were braced against the stone floor around Harry's hips. In an instant, Harry felt his heart rate triple as he realized that he was trapped.

Harry squirmed in an effort to roll over, but Remus's hands gripped Harry's upper arms and he growled lowly, effectively stilling the younger man's movements as he froze. The reactions of the older man told Harry that his mind had once more been overwhelmed by his werewolf instincts, and any fragile promises he'd made earlier were gone. Harry felt himself flush with fear when an unfamiliar mouth pressed into the back of his neck, and he squirmed experimentally, but the effort was met only with another low, warning growl.

“Remus...” Harry breathed softly while he struggled to keep still, “Remus, please...”

Harry's near-petrified voice seemed to cut through at least part of Remus's base werewolf instinct, and ever so slowly, he came back to himself. “Harry? I...oh, Gods...” He all but threw himself off of the younger man, and Harry sat up on trembling limbs.

“I guess it's safe to say separating isn't an option, then,” Harry laughed nervously, still rather shaky as he got over the shock of being pinned to his own sitting room floor.

“Obviously not,” Remus couldn't quite meet Harry's gaze.

 

~*~

 

In tense silence, Harry travelled to and from Remus's safehouse that Kingsley had organized for him, transporting shrunken wooden boxes the size of muggle dice back to Grimmauld place. It took the better part of the day to transport everything over, and in that time Harry estimated that they had jumped through the Floo at least twenty-seven times each. He was still a little jumpy from the morning's unpleasant assault, and he offered Remus an apologetic look when he would reach for him, and Harry would cringe involuntarily. Though Harry _knew_ it wasn't Remus's fault—it was the bond making him act this way, but it was difficult at times to convince himself of that fact.

“This is the last one,” Remus huffed as he dropped a handful of tiny wooden crates beside the ones Harry had extracted from his own pockets before resizing them.

“How on earth do you have so much _stuff_?” Harry's eyes roved over the stacks and stacks of crates that now cluttered his sitting room, not recalling Remus ever being such a packrat during his tenure at Hogwarts back in Harry's third year.

“It's primarily my private library,” Remus shrugged, though he appeared amused by the question. Harry shook his head, laughing softly as he picked up the case file he'd ignored that morning and flopping back onto the sofa. Red Moon was on the move again, and being stuck doing at-home paperwork for the case instead of being in the field was driving Harry mental. However, he was certain that going off to do field work in tracking down an anti-werewolf group with Remus in his current state would be an incredibly _bad_ idea.

“Well, there's plenty of space in the Library, if you want to organize them there,” Harry turned his attention to his work as he spoke, sifting through parchment and photographs in the fire, “we sorted through everything once things...settled down, and we had all the really Dark books destroyed.” Silence followed his words, and Harry glanced back up, just in time to see the anxious look disappear from Remus's face. “Remus? Are you all right?” Harry felt like it was a stupid question, and cringed a little as it escaped him.

“Fine, Harry,” he replied with a faint smile while he flicked his wand at the boxes with a few sweeping motions, and the clutter disappeared at once. “I'll sort everything tomorrow, no point doing it tonight.”

“Hmm,” Harry nodded in agreement and turned back to his work, glowering at the victim photographs pinned to the reports in his hands—Red Moon had been upping its kills in number and savagery. What was the point, Harry wondered, of castrating the poor werewolf, only to let him bleed out while he was forced to watch his partner be force-fed the appendage, then kill her with a simple Killing Curse? Harry shivered. The children had been spared, though Harry was uncertain whether this was mercy or another vengeful act; they had been forced to watch their parents' murder, and were now under the care of their paternal grandparents. It had been six weeks, and they had yet to speak.

An arm encircling Harry's shoulders caused him to jump, and he lifted his gaze to see Remus looking down at him. His stomach did a strange somersault at the man's close proximity to him and Harry averted his gaze, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the corners of his eyes. “Sorry Remus, I was miles away. This case...it's beyond unpleasant.” The older man's thumb brushed over Harry's shoulder lightly, and he felt some of his tension leave him. Harry felt himself shiver a moment later as he recalled what had happened that morning, but he beat down the urge to slip from the embrace.

“You're part of the team seeking out Red Moon?” Remus asked, leaning forward to look at the paperwork balanced on Harry's knees.

“Yeah, not many Aurors were keen to take it on,” Harry grimaced, and refocused his gaze on the crackling fire in the grate. Remus's hold on him had tightened slightly, and Harry could sense the protective edge to it, which was comforting, in a strange way. “I'd thought we'd seen the worst of it when we rounded up the Death Eaters, but these people...in some respects, they make Voldemort's followers look tame.” Harry jerked his head in a quick shake, forcing back the memories of the various crime scenes he'd visited over the last year; seeing them once was bad enough, he didn't want to get lost in his flashbacks.

“Not much frightens werewolves,” Remus's voice had gone very hard, not meeting Harry's eyes when he'd turned to look at the older man, “but these people do. I hope the Aurors are taking this threat seriously.” Harry leaned against Remus, trying to balance the seriousness of the conversation with the man's need for contact, while he struggled to ignore the way his heart beat violently in his chest.

“We are, or, at least, my team is. After I practically begged to be a part of the investigation people stopped being so dismissive of it. At least my fame's good for something,” Harry smiled bitterly, and replaced the parchment and photographs inside its folder before he tossed it onto the coffee table. His head felt too full; the case, the accidental bond with Remus, Ginny...Harry was rather impressed that he hadn't cracked under the pressure yet. “I'm just so tired of all this death,” Harry rubbed at his eyes again. “I never thought I'd see something worse than what the muggleborns had gone through...” Remus squeezed him gently, reassuringly.

“Lycanthropy isn't like muggleborn prejudice,” his tone of voice was patient and reminiscent of the teacher's voice he'd adopted in Harry's third year at Hogwarts. “A muggleborn witch or wizard is _born_ , as the name implies. A werewolf if made. Anyone can become one, and no one is immune to the bite. Fear and ignorance are incredibly powerful; they push people to violence as easily as blinking.” Harry knew Remus was likely speaking from experience, and he felt a wave of sadness for the man. Harry had no idea what to say, or how to offer comfort. It wasn't his world, and Harry felt that it wasn't his place to offer opinions or advice. He hesitated for a moment longer, then reached out and wrapped an arm around Remus's midsection, offering a gentle squeeze.

Remus appeared startled by the contact, and for a moment, Harry thought he might move away. Slowly, the werewolf relaxed into his touch and Harry felt that strange somersaulting sensation in the pit of his stomach return. They did not look at one another, but stared into the fire, both lost in their own thoughts.

 

~*~

 

Harry woke the following morning feeling well-rested and calmer than he had in days. He woke alone, the weak sunlight pouring into his window illuminated the room with a friendly glow, and for the barest moment Harry actually missed the sensation of waking up into someone's arms. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he stood and stretched, his spine popping in a most satisfying way, then moved to grab some clothes to face the day in.

Harry's good mood died the second he took down the protective charms and opened his bedroom door. The armful of clothing he held nearly tumbled out of his grip as Harry took in the image of Remus curled up on the floor, cheek pressed against the blemished, dark wood—minute scratches and crescent indentations visible where the man had tried to get past Harry's wards and into the room. Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a block of ice, and he quickly slipped down the hall and to the loo before Remus had even stirred.

Muttering a quick, “ _silencio_ ,” on the closed door, Harry dropped his clean clothes onto the bath mat and sunk into a sitting position upon the toilet, his face in his hands. It had seemed so simple the night before; cast charms on Remus's door—with his permission—as well as his own, and that should keep him from wandering in the night. Clearly, the bond wouldn't be contained that easily. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a faint shiver running through him. The idea of inviting a man into his bed still felt as though he was betraying Ginny somehow, and the guilt refused to be placated by the reasonable parts of his mind. At the same time, it seemed cruel to force Remus's instincts to seek him out like that in the middle of the night. As little as he liked the idea, wouldn't it be kinder to just give in and invite the man into his bed?

With a frustrated sigh, Harry stood up and turned on the hot water.

Under the near-scalding spray, Harry closed his eyes and his thoughts strayed immediately to his house guest. It wasn't fair to force Remus to sleep in his hallway like that, and the sight of him curled there like some sort of desperate beggar made him burn with guilt. Harry was already subject to casual touches and embraces by the man when he was awake, it would be the same in sleep, wouldn't it?

But somehow, Harry knew it was _not_ the same. Harry reached for the shampoo and worked the cedar-scented concoction into his hair. There was something so much more intimate about sharing a bed, even if it was _just_ for sleep. Harry felt his stomach knot with nerves, and he sighed with frustration. _I can't let this go on, I just need to sack up and get it over with._ The thought did little to put Harry's mind at ease, as he was terrified of Remus interpreting the invitation as something more than just sleep.

 _But this is Remus,_ Harry reasoned for what felt like the thousandth time, _even if his wolf side does push him, it wouldn't push him that far, Hermione's notes said so at least half a dozen times._ He stepped back under the spray and picked up the violet bar of soap. _I really hope she was right, at least._

 

Harry did not step out of the shower until well past the point where muggle water tanks would have gone cold. His skin was wrinkled like an old prune and he felt marginally calmer than he had an hour ago. If nothing else, showers were spectacular for thinking through his problems—though he wasn't particularly thrilled with the conclusion he'd come to; but he'd grow used to it in time, wouldn't he?

Remus was conspicuously absent from the breakfast table, though someone—Kreacher, most likely—had left him a plate piled high with breakfast fare under a warming charm. Next to it was his post, along with the usual stack of paperwork from the office were two sealed envelopes, one he recognized as from Hermione, the other was addressed to him with an unfamiliar scrawl.

With a triangle of toast balanced between his teeth, Harry slit the envelope of Hermione's letter, which turned out to be lucky as he shook it open one-handed and began to read.

 

_Harry,_

 

_How are things going with Remus? We haven't heard from you in a few days and we wanted to make sure you're still alive._

_Also, Ron wanted me to pass along that at a recent raid on a Red Moon hideout they found some photographs of the areas around Grimmauld Place. It would probably be safe to assume that they know Remus is there, though I don't know how much they know. Be careful, Harry._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

Harry set aside the letter with a faint smile, and moved on to the mystery letter, though now with a sneaking suspicion that he knew who it was from. He used a few curse-detection charms first, and finding nothing he slit it open and a single square of parchment fell out. Instead of it being written, it appeared as though it had been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter, with perfect, uniform indented letters. It read:

 

_You will burn for protecting that monster. A creature's whore is still a whore._

 

“Well isn't that charming,” Harry muttered, slipping the note back into the envelope, then summoned some blank parchment, a quill, and ink to draft a reply to Hermione.

 

_Hermione,_

 

_Things are fine, I'm not dead yet, thanks for the vote of confidence. Things're a bit weird, but I reckon that'll go away in time. Right now it's just a matter of us kind of talking through things and stuff._

_Thanks for the novel of notes, by the way. They've really helped in keeping me from running away screaming. Remus is trying to not push, but it's sort of hard for him. We're both trying and we're both not exactly keen on this, so it's pretty much turned into this whole mess of weird mixed signals and awkwardness. At least this happened with Remus and not someone like...Greyback or something._

_I got a lovely anonymous note today, three guesses from who. You can let Ron know I'm sending it along to Caldwell today, though likely he'll see it at some point soon anyway._

 

_Take care,_

_Harry_

 

Harry folded up the letter to Hermione and put it aside while he sent off Strax to the Ministry first with the letter he'd received that morning, as well as a note to Auror Caldwell. The threat was definitely the bigger issue, and Hermione could wait a bit for an answer to her letter.

Harry put away Hermione's letter and his unsent response, as keeping it out of Remus's sight seemed a safer idea for the moment. He didn't know how the bond might make him respond contact from one of his best friends, no matter how platonic it might be. Harry didn't like being this nervous and paranoid, and being so cut off from the outside world made it even worse. Harry raked a hand through his hair and stared out the window, wondering if he'd ever get the normal life that he wanted—that he almost had with Ginny. Harry shook his head violently as the beautiful redhead once more snuck into his thoughts. _Move forward, you_ have _to move forward._ Harry wished it was easier to forget her.

Harry passed the morning at the table, eating his way through his mountain of food while he worked on the day's paperwork. By noon, Remus still hadn't come out of hiding, and Harry had begun to worry. Was he embarrassed? Harry frowned, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach while he thought it over. He moved to the sitting room with a cup of tea and _Quidditch Through The Ages_ tucked under his arm, hoping that the book would distract him from worrying about the werewolf.

Harry stretched out on the sofa and buried his nose in the book. Harry lost track of the time, but as the soft pitter-patter of light rain began to descend on the windows, Harry felt himself drift off into a light sleep.

 

_Harry was tied to a chair. His wrists were twisted behind his back in tight bindings, and each ankle had been stuck to the legs of the chair with some sort of sticking charm. A nameless thug hovered before him, pinpricks of eyes the only visible part of his assailant, the rest hidden by a cloak and a balaclava._

“ _Freak,” they snarled at him, the vicious tone making it impossible to discern whether it was male or female. “How dare you bend over for a monster! You're nothing but a whore, you give it up to whoever comes along—human or not.”_

“ _Shut up, I'm not a whore!” Harry struggled against the bonds, but they held fast._

“ _You are. You're a sick, disgusting freak. You'd give it up for a hippogriff if one took a fancy to you.” The words hit Harry like the cracks of a whip, and he struggled harder._

“ _Shut up! I'm none of those things—”_

“ _You are, Potter. Whore to a monster, to filth.” The word_ whore _echoed around Harry, and he roared in frustration and anguish._

“ _Stop it! Remus isn't a monster, he's a good man.”_

“ _A man, you say? Well look at your_ man _now.” The assailant stepped aside._

_Bound in a chair across from Harry was the desecrated corpse of what had once been Remus Lupin. The eyes were missing and bloody tears streaked his sunken, waxy cheeks. His abdomen had been slashed open like a pig for slaughter, and his throat had been cut so fiercely that only the barest connective tissue kept it from toppling from his shoulders._

_Cruel laughter engulfed him as Harry screamed._

 

“Harry, _Harry!_ Wake up, you're having a nightmare!” Harry thrashed, struggling to get away, but as the haze of his sleep lifted, he found himself safe and free. Remus was leaning over him, hands on Harry's shoulders, eyes wide and his face lined with worry.

“R-Remus?” Harry shook his head a few times, trying to rid his mind's eye of the last image of the dream. Harry took several trembling breaths, and before he could think through the action he threw himself at Remus and wrapped his arms around the werewolf's neck in a tight hug.

Remus froze under the contact, though after a moment a hand came down to rub Harry's back gently. Harry held onto the older man tightly, unable to completely quell the shakes that racked his body. “I—I'm sorry,” Harry murmured after several minutes of silence, as he pulled back from the embrace, and Remus moved to sit at his side. “I didn't mean to worry you,” Remus moved his hand to rest it on Harry's hip, and while the contact was still slightly foreign to Harry, Remus did nothing other than hold him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Harry,” Remus replied gently, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze. “Would you like to talk about your dream?” Harry shook his head at once, cursing inwardly when he felt his face grow a little warm, though he was uncertain whether is was from embarrassment or shame.

“It was—unpleasant,” Harry pressed a hand over his eyes, his back curling forwards as he struggled to shake off the remnants of the nightmare.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Remus's voice was hesitant, as though he was afraid of overstepping his bounds by repeating the question.

“I—” Harry's voice caught in his throat, and images of Remus's nightmare-corpse assaulted his mind's eye. Harry swallowed, trying to stave off the nausea that followed, “...no, I...seeing it once was enough.” Harry felt one of Remus's hands close over his and squeeze lightly. Harry returned the unspoken sentiment, though he did not yet lift his gaze. Harry heard Remus murmur an incantation, and a moment later a glass of water was being pressed into his hands.

“Drink, it'll help. I'll be back in a moment.” Remus released him and stood, while Harry finally looked up and watched him stride out of the room. For one wild moment, Harry wanted to make him stay, but his mouth refused to work properly. Harry sipped the water he'd been given, and felt some of his nausea immediately begin to recede.

Beyond the horror of seeing that much gore, Harry wondered what else the dream could mean. In between sips of water, he had a feeling he knew _exactly_ what it meant, but it was too soon for that...wasn't it? He couldn't deny that his feelings towards Remus were quickly changing, but what they were changing _into..._ he was still uncertain. Remus returned in under five minutes, balancing a tray of chicken soup and dry toast in his hands. Harry pursed his lips a little to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“I'm not ill, you know. It was just a nightmare.” Remus ignored his comment, and placed the tray on the coffee table.

“Humour me. You woke up and nearly made a mess of my favourite cardigan. I'll feel better if you eat light this evening.” Harry chuckled, picked up the bowl, and drained half the broth in one. Remus sat down next to him, close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, but he did not physically touch him. Harry shifted and closed the distance between them so that their legs brushed together. He tried to make the movement seem casual and unintentional, but he was fairly certain that Remus didn't buy the act. Harry was still shaken by the nightmare, and the physical contact was helping him stay calm. The older man hesitated for a moment longer, then curled an arm around Harry's waist, and Harry felt himself relax at once. He tried valiantly to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that was telling him he should _not_ be enjoying this; he was practically assaulted by the man roughly thirty-six hours earlier, but even so he could not deny how he reacted to gentle contact from the older man.

It amazed Harry how utterly _safe_ he had begun to feel when Remus was near. It was so incredibly different than how it had been with Ginny; with her, Harry had been in the role of protector—not that Ginny really _needed_ protecting—but with Remus the roles were reversed, and Harry found that he did not mind it nearly as much as he thought he would. He'd been so afraid of being emasculated by this relationship, of being seen as _the woman_ , but Harry felt no less masculine in Remus's arms than he had felt in holding Ginny. Smiling slightly at the realization, he reached forward to grab some of the toast.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Harry looked up when Remus spoke, the toast balanced lightly in his hand and halfway to his mouth. Remus was looking down at him curiously, with a faint smile playing across his lips.

“I was just thinking about me...us...this...” Harry waved his free hand vaguely to indicate the two of them.

“Come to any conclusions?”

“Some, yeah,” Harry munched on his toast to keep from elaborating, and he felt Remus quiver next to him in a soft chuckle. “Where were you all day, anyway? I didn't see hide nor hair of you til now.” Keen to divert the conversation away from himself, Remus seemed to catch on to this desire, and smiled a little before he answered.

“Unpacking my books, mostly. Even with magic it takes time to sort them properly.” Harry chuckled a little, and moved to sip some of his water.

“Properly? There's a right and wrong way to sort books?”

“By author, then chronologically for series, then arranged by subject, the fiction, nonfiction, and muggle books kept together...” Harry listened, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Remus was getting a dreamy, glazed-over look to his eyes as he talked, and Harry could just imagine Sirius taking the mickey out of him for his obsession with books.

The thought of Sirius in that moment struck him as slightly odd. His godfather had been friends with this man, _best_ friends. What would he think of what was happening now? Harry swallowed the question as best he could and focused on listening to Remus talk, seemingly unaware that he'd lost Harry somewhere along the way. Slowly, they fell into silence again, though for once it carried none of the awkwardness Harry had grown used to feeling of late. He picked up the remnants of the soup and ate quietly, pretending he didn't notice the way the werewolf's eyes watched his every move.

The pair passed the evening in companionable silence, with Harry asking Kreacher to bring Remus some dinner so that they didn't have to move. The elf grumbled the entire time, shooting Remus nasty glares in between quiet insults. Harry decided to ignore it, as Remus didn't seem entirely offended by the elf's multiple variations of 'nasty werewolf'.

Harry did his best to appear nonchalant as he summoned a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses, using a quick cleaning charm to siphon off some of the dust, before pouring a measure for each of them. He had spent the evening psyching himself up for the sleeping arrangements that night following the decision he'd come to in the shower that morning. Harry hoped the liquid courage would help with his nerves, though he genuinely doubted it.

Harry pulled his legs up and sat on his ankles, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire while he took small sips of the drink. Harry could feel Remus's fingertips absently rubbing at his hip, and he had a feeling the contact was born out of habit, rather than intentional. Part of Harry's mind still protested the alarmingly fast progression of his thoughts and feelings towards the man that currently held him, but a larger part was content to just enjoy it, and not overthink it.

“Well,” Harry said at last as he stood up, untangling himself from Remus as delicately as he could, “I think I'll head to bed.” His mouth twitched into a vague half-smile when he saw Remus's expression fall, and he reached out for the man's hand, giving it a gentle tug. “You coming?” Remus's gaze snapped up, eyes wide.

“You mean...?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled weakly, “I—I mean I'm not ready to do y'know... _stuff_ yet—” Harry felt himself go red, “—but yes, I mean it.” The shock of Harry's invitation seemed to have glued Remus to the spot, but after a few encouraging tugs of his hand, he stood up and followed Harry upstairs, the corners of the man's mouth quivering as though he was struggling to stifle a smile.

 

Harry had been earnest in his sentiments, but by the time they'd reached the top landing, he found his resolve had already begun to waver. Remus stood very close to him as they walked hand in hand to the bedroom, and Harry could feel the werewolf's body heat practically radiating off him. If Remus was at all aware of Harry's nervousness, he did not react to it. The pseudo-assault was still fresh in Harry's mind, and he felt almost nauseous with fear at the memory. While he knew that that hadn't _really_ been Remus, it was still difficult for Harry to separate the two.

Upon reaching the top landing, Remus dropped Harry's hand and slipped down the hall without a word or a glance towards Harry. He watched Remus slip into Regulus's old room, while Harry made his way to the master bedroom.

Harry dug out a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms and changed into them, though he hesitated at sleeping the way he always did, as he was reluctant to give Remus's wolf any funny ideas. Before Harry had come to a conclusion one way or the other, Remus returned dressed similarly to him, and again Harry was subject once more to the man's surprisingly fit physique.

Harry did not know what he had expected, it wasn't like he was used to seeing shirtless men in their forties wandering around his house, but it was a far cry from what his mind had imagined. Remus was leanly muscled, with an opalescent crisscross of scars across his chest and abdomen, with a jagged tear of white scar tissue just above his left hip. It was clear to Harry that that was where Greyback had bitten him, and he struggled to keep his eyes off the white mar upon his flesh. Light brown hair trailed down Remus's stomach and collected in a thatch just below his navel, before continuing into the pyjamas he wore. Harry felt himself go red for the umpteenth time that day, he turned and rushed to the loo without a word.

When Harry had returned, Remus was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and he was muttering to himself. Harry was too far away to catch the words, but he did not miss how distressed Remus looked. In a way, he found it strangely comforting; at least it confirmed to Harry that he wasn't the only one freaking out about the whole situation that they suddenly found themselves in.

  

Harry made more noise than was necessary in returning to the room, giving Remus a chance to compose himself in the event that he didn't want to discuss his own worries regarding their budding 'relationship'. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine at the word; it was still very strange to him that he and Remus were in a _relationship_.

Remus turned sharply at the sounds of Harry returning, and he smiled weakly. Harry attempted to return it, but he wasn't quite able to get his mouth to cooperate. He took a handful of tentative steps forward, his movements wooden and stiff despite his best efforts to conceal how nervous he was about sharing his bed with the older man.

 _This is so weird_ , Harry thought in a panic, _It's barely been three days and I'm already sharing a bed with him? This_ can't _be right._ His stomach roiled with nervousness, and he curled his hands into fists to try and hide his trembling. He and Remus both reached for the duvet at the same moment, and Harry felt the colour rise in his face again. The hand on the blanket froze, and Remus moved to take Harry's hands in his own. “Harry, _breathe,_ ” Harry looked up and could see that familiar, placid smile he'd always known looking back at him. “I'm not going to do anything you wouldn't want, I swear. It's just sleep.” Harry nodded a little, but his mind was still stuck in a whirlwind of panic. Slowly, he extricated his hands from Remus's, and slid under the covers, his effort to conceal his fear utterly shattered.

Logically, Harry _knew_ that Remus would never do anything without his consent, but in his panic-stricken state, it was difficult to convince himself that the werewolf was above _anything_. Harry felt the bed dip next to him and he rolled onto his side, hoping that if he couldn't see Remus it might help with the strangeness he felt about the entire situation.

While Harry was still in the midst of trying to calm his freaked-out mind, he let out a small gasp of surprise as an arm extended and slowly snaked around his midsection and pulled him close. Remus's chest moulded into Harry's back and he let out a contented sigh, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

The fact that they seemed to fit so easily together made Harry feel strange, and he could not exactly work out _why._ Remus's breath ghosted across the back of his neck in warm, even puffs, and he held onto Harry the way a child might cling to a treasured stuffed animal. Harry shifted experimentally, putting barely an inch of space between them, and at once Remus shifted to close the gap.

With a defeated sort of sigh, Harry took off his glasses and flicked his wand to extinguish the gas lamps. Sleep did not come to him for a long time.


	8. Full Moon

Chapter 8 – Full Moon

 

Waking up in someone's arms was something Harry had yet to get used to. While it was not an unpleasant way to wake up in the strictest sense, in Harry's haze between sleep and waking, it always took him a moment to remember who was holding him, and _why_. The days passed and the full moon drew closer; and as a result Harry was subject to waking with a distinctive hardness pressing into his back in the morning, which added a new dimension of fear to his mind regarding the constant presence of the bond.

Harry knew Remus well enough to know that he would never push, despite his body's insistence. Each time it happened, Remus would wake as Harry tried to slip from his embrace and, mildly mortified, he spit out a number of blundering apologies before he'd take off for an extra-long shower. Harry knew it wasn't Remus's fault, but that knowledge did little to calm the panic that would pool in his stomach every time it happened.

Paired with the awkward, mixed emotions that came with each morning, Hermione had begun writing to him almost daily. At first, her letters detailed the ongoings of life outside Grimmauld Place, but as the full moon drew closer, her letters also carried information she deemed important, as well as near-constant reassurances.

 

 _Harry,_ (she wrote)

 

_I've been cross-checking my sources, and you won't be able to leave Remus to his own devices that night. Being his mate, he'll feel compelled to seek you out. He won't hurt you, even without wolfsbane there's no record of a werewolf ever harming or turning their human companion unwillingly. But he'll need your company, and the days following helping him recover will help settle the bond more quickly._

_Also, it may be a good idea to look at the notes I gave you regarding the Claim of Dominance. It's sort of a rite of passage thing for the first moon transformation the bound couple experiences, and it's pretty important. I mean it, read up on it before moonrise that night._

_We're all doing well, we miss you. I hope this thing gets sorted soon and we can come visit. It'd be nice to see you and not have to worry about Remus biting our heads off!_

_Good luck._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

Nearly every letter was the same, though it did not help settle his nerves nearly as much as Hermione had probably hoped that they would. The thought of the 'claim of dominance' she had referenced made him nervous, and Harry had done his own research about the accidental claim and the full moon following it. While there was the constant reassurance in nearly every text he read of, 'no threat of violence', the idea of hanging out with a fully grown werewolf _on_ the full moon filled him with near-blinding terror. His last encounter with Remus's werewolf form had not gone over particularly well, and he wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

“Morning,” Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder as he passed, allowing his hand to linger for a moment before he dropped into the chair opposite. Harry smiled, and a warmth replaced some of the panic he felt. It still unnerved Harry how quickly his feelings seemed to be changing from panic and fear to some form of affection, and he didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. Harry busied himself with the marmalade to avoid the casual morning chat. Remus seemed to understand that Harry wasn't in any mood to talk, and allowed the meal to pass in silence.

In between mouthfuls of toast, Harry went over the day's at-home work he'd been assigned, and felt his stomach lurch at the attached photos. _God,_ Harry thought, _these people are sick._ He casually flipped them over so that Remus wouldn't see. Harry summoned a self-inking quill with a lazy flick of his wand and went over the report, comparing the details with the previous werewolf murders he'd seen over the last few months.

 

From across the table, Harry heard the rustle of Remus picking up the morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , followed by the distinctive cluck of his tongue to signal his irritation. “Your disappearance is still headline news, it seems,” Harry looked up at his words and Remus turned over the paper, to show a photograph of himself from a couple weeks earlier defending Remus from the attack that had started all this. Below it, the headline read: _Remus Lupin and Harry Potter Still Unaccounted For, Mystery Deepens_

“Do I _want_ to know what that article says?” Harry asked with a derisive snort as Remus flipped the paper back round and opened it.

“I doubt it, considering it's your dear friend Miss Skeeter who wrote it,” Remus set down the paper and began to read, while taking a sip off his teacup. “According to this, I'm holding you hostage and doing unspeakable acts to your person, which, apparently, includes some rather taboo magics regarding your reproductive organs.”

“Oh, if that's all,” Harry snorted and returned to the reports, the pair of them falling into comfortable silence.

While Remus's comment had been innocent enough, it managed to make Harry's stomach churn with worry. The full moon was days away, and Harry was not blind to the intense looks of longing the man had given him more than once over the last few days. While confident that Remus wouldn't do anything Harry wasn't ready for, it did little to quell his anxieties. He had tried more than once to picture himself in intimate situations with the man beyond the casual touches they'd done so far. Unfortunately, it was as though his mind seemed to have created a mental block, and Harry simply couldn't picture it, much less actually _do_ it. Harry gave himself a little shake, and tried to focus on his work.

 

The day passed slowly, and Harry struggled to mask his ever-growing cabin fever. He hadn't been housebound like this in ages, and he wasn't used to staying in one place for so long. Harry knew Remus felt guilty about the entire situation—even _if_ it was Harry's fault to begin with—and he didn't want to add to the man's guilt by showing how antsy he was getting. Luckily, the at-home work he had been assigned that day took up a generous chunk of his morning and afternoon, the various files spread out across his favourite writing desk in the library as Harry struggled to find a pattern.

“Well, that looks like fun,” Remus commented from behind Harry, causing him to jump. He turned and Remus's face fell a little. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, no, it's all right Remus. I was just a little...preoccupied, I guess.” Harry smiled apologetically, and the older man pressed a cup of tea into his hands.

“You've been working on these all morning, you need a break.” Ignoring Harry's halting protests, Remus all but dragged him from the library and into the sitting room, where he forced him down onto the sofa.

“Pushy werewolf,” Harry smirked while Remus chuckled, sitting at his side and easing back a little. Harry sipped the tea he'd been given, to find that it was prepared exactly how he liked it. “Oh, that's lovely,” Harry eased back against the cushions with a sigh. “Maybe you're right, but this case...it's different somehow.”

“How so? Or, are you not allowed to say?” Remus lifted an arm, and Harry at once eased into the offered embrace, while he chuckled softly at the question.

“No, it's fine. It's weird, because usually Red Moon murders are random, just...carnage. There was no way to suspect where they'd strike, so we had the Ministry print these flyers in the Daily Prophet warning the werewolf population to stay safe...But now, the attacks seem more planned out, more deliberate. The last few we've been called in on have been werewolves involved with a human partner and who've had children.” Harry shivered a little, memories of the photographs coming back to him, while Remus's arm around him tensed slightly. “I dunno...it just seems like it's leading somewhere, but we can't suss out what that _somewhere_ is yet.”

“How many have you seen like this so far?”

“Six,” Harry sighed, taking another sip of his tea. “We've got over a dozen orphaned and traumatized children and no leads. If we don't stop this soon...” Harry trailed off, sighing with frustration. “I hate this, I feel so helpless,” Remus's hand moved from gripping his shoulder to rubbing at his back while he sipped his tea, and Harry could feel his muscles sagging under the light ministrations.

“It's possible the murders are part of a Dark magic rite, though offhand I can't think of what kind.”

“I'll mention that in my report, see what we can dig up,” Harry laughed bitterly, “who would've thought I'd ever regret having those books on Dark magic destroyed.”

“You did the right thing, Harry,” Remus's hand shifted again to squeeze his shoulder gently, “if a Dark Wizard got their hands on those books, they could cause some serious damage. It's better that they are no more.”

“I hope you're right,” Harry moved one of his hands to twine his fingers with Remus's, and squeezed his hand gently. “Just promise me that you'll be careful, at least until all of this is over. I'd...” Harry felt his face grow a little warm, “I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.” Harry would have felt the same way if the claim hadn't happened, but now that it had, his innocent words seemed to carry more weight to them. Remus shifted a little closer and perched his chin on Harry's shoulder, but he didn't offer a response.

“I better get back to work,” Harry set down the empty cup on the table, and it vanished at once. He reluctantly untangled himself from Remus and stood up. “Er, thanks, for this I mean. I did need a break,” Harry smiled weakly, and headed back to his work.

With Remus's suggestion in mind, he packed up his notes and drafted a letter to his supervisor, detailing his findings, and a request to look into possible Dark curses that required ritual murder. He sent Strax off with the work, the owl wavering a little under the weight of the package he carried. Harry watched until the owl was little more than a black speck on the horizon, then turned back to see Remus watching him, his arms crossed casually as he leant against the door frame. Despite the nonchalance of the stance, Remus's eyes told another story. In the glow of the setting sun, the bands of light seemed to highlight the honey gold in his hair and eyes, and Harry could feel his heart flutter. The desire he saw written all over the older man's face overwhelmed him and he had to turn away, a hand pressed to his chest. It still unsettled Harry how quickly things seemed to be moving, and he could not decide whether or not it was a good thing.

An arm slinging around his shoulders startled Harry from his thoughts, and he turned to offer Remus a weak smile. The man's expression softened, and for a moment Harry thought Remus might try to kiss him, but instead he let Harry go and wandered back into the main part of the house.

As evening gave way to night, the pair ate and passed the time in one another's company, each man lost in his own thoughts. The clear night sky showed the moon, so close to full, and the sight of it seemed to agitate Remus. It was quite clear to Harry that the older man longed to do more than the casual touches they'd shared so far. But as with the morning, he did not push.

Harry tramped up to bed that night with his werewolf companion on his heels, and they performed their evening rituals in silence. Harry eased into the folds of the duvet with Remus at his side, one arm draped casually over Harry's midsection, pulling him in close. He moulded into the shape of Remus's form, and Harry felt a lump of nervousness in his throat. “Remus?” He asked, his voice sounding more tentative than he had intended.

“Hm?” He lifted his head off the pillows and looked down at Harry, the arm across his midsection shifted a little, holding onto him more securely.

“I—I was just wondering...Er, what we can expect for the full moon on Saturday? I mean, I know you said that would never hurt me and all that but...” Harry trailed off, looking up at the man apologetically. He was certain that Remus could feel how tense he was, the thought validated a moment later when Remus moved to rub at the rigid muscles of Harry's abdomen, his expression pensive as he thought over Harry's question.

“The wolf in me...it is base animal instinct. With the wolfsbane, it clears my mind and calms the instincts, but it does not purge me of them. It's akin to giving a Calming Draught to a distressed witch or wizard.” Remus's mouth quirked into a small half-smile, his palm resting flat against Harry's stomach, his thumb brushing back and forth across the exposed skin. The look on Remus's face told Harry that he was likely unaware that he was doing it at all, but he didn't stop him. “I have never had a bonded mate like this before. I have had...partners, but never with this level of intensity. It is generally unwise for humans to be near me even if I am taking the potion, and my partners were no exception to that rule.

“But this bond goes deeper than human emotion, or my base instincts as a werewolf,” Remus continued, looking down at Harry significantly. The hand across his abdomen moved up to his face, and his rough, large hand traced the contours of Harry's jaw. The intimate touch made Harry shiver a little, and he stared back up at Remus, feeling for a moment very much like a trapped prey animal. “You have nothing to fear from me, Harry; I swear it.” He paused, his eyes flitting back and forth as he studied Harry's face, then released him, curling his arm around Harry's waist once more. Harry leaned into the embrace, staring off into the semidarkness, wishing he could be as certain about his safety as Remus was.

 

~*~

 

Despite Hermione's near-daily owls bearing words of reassurance, as well as Remus telling him repeatedly that he had nothing to fear, by Saturday Harry had worked himself into a state of near-hysteria. The morning dawned to a steel-grey sky, which couldn't seem to decide whether or not to rain, and the weak sunlight refused to peek through the cloud cover. Harry woke with Remus more tangled about him than usual, and with each attempt he made to extricate himself, Remus would shift to compensate. At first, Harry wondered if he was doing it on purpose, but true to his word, he had been a perfect gentleman ever since this whole thing had started, would he really stop now?

Harry had finally given up trying to escape, and allowed Remus to cling to him like he was some sort of oversized teddy bear. As the sky slowly began to brighten, the dark clouds shifting to an off-white, Remus began to stir. He groaned softly and Harry felt his hot breath tickle the bare back of his neck, closely followed by the gentle brush of lips against the side of his throat. Harry's breath hitched, more in surprise than anything else, and he quickly pulled from the contact. Harry sat up, his face bright red, unable to meet Remus's eyes. “Sorry Harry,” he mumbled, his sleepy tone apologetic. Harry felt a pang of guilt, but he was still unable to look towards the other man.

Harry had known that Remus would be a little different the day preceding moonrise, but it did little to make him feel any more ready for physical intimacy with the man. “No, Remus, it's okay. I don't mean to make this hard on you, I just...” A hand resting on his blanket-covered thigh cut off Harry's apology, and he looked up into the tired, but gentle smile of the older man.

“I've told you from the start Harry,” Remus moved to hook the same arm around Harry's shoulders, a form of contact that Remus knew Harry had grown to enjoy. “You don't need to push yourself, or go further than you feel comfortable with. I will not be upset or offended if you ask me to stop.”

“I-I know,” Harry eased back into the embrace with a frustrated sigh, “I just wish I could make this easier for you, that's all.” Remus chuckled a little, and rested his chin on the top of Harry's head.

“You're doing more than I could ever justifiably ask of you, and you did it of your own volition. I am forever in your debt, Harry.” Remus's voice had taken on a husky quality, and his arm around Harry had tightened slightly.

“I couldn't _not_ do something Remus!” Harry's eyes widened in horror when he thought of what would have happened, had he rejected him. “You would have...” he trailed off, his mouth pulling into a frown, “I—” Harry tried again, but his words had been cut off by lips pressing into his hair. Harry shivered a little, but the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. His eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed himself against Remus, and the older man held onto Harry more tightly. He could feel an edge of possessiveness in the embrace, and where once it had terrified Harry, now it made him feel safe.

Harry was once more struck by how unnerving that concept was. It had been such a short span of time, and yet his memories of his time with Ginny were fading into the background of his mind, as though it was a relationship from years before, instead of weeks. At the same time, his closeness with Remus felt more like they had been seeing each other for several months, instead of a handful of weeks. The arm around him felt so _right_ , like it belonged there. Was it part of this bond, or had he really fallen for Remus that quickly? Harry shifted nervously, staring into space as he mulled it over. Remus seemed to sense his worry, and he squeezed Harry gently. “Harry? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he mumbled at once, though he couldn't meet Remus's worried gaze. “Just thinking about things,” he untangled himself from the older man's embrace, who seemed reluctant to let him go. Harry felt eyes on him as he stooped to gather clothing for the day and headed out for his morning shower.

 

~*~

 

Harry spent extra time in the shower in an effort to ready himself to face Remus. Moonrise was in ten hours; it did not feel like enough time to brace himself for spending a night in the company of a fully grown, transformed werewolf. Harry cast a silencing charm on the door to keep Remus from hearing him dry heave into the toilet.

When he finally made an appearance at the breakfast table, Remus was nowhere to be seen and the enormous portions Kreacher always prepared had been decimated. A portion had been left for him under a warming charm, but before he had been given time to ponder the state of the breakfast table, Kreacher wandered by, muttering darkly under his breath. “Nasty werewolf eating poor Master Harry out of house and home...Oh, where will that leave poor Kreacher when nasty werewolf decides to eat Master Harry, with no heirs for poor Kreacher to look after...” Harry rolled his eyes as he tucked in to his reserved portion.

Remus seemed to have disappeared, and as Harry wandered through the house, the man was nowhere to be found. He tried to remain calm, but his stomach refused to untangle itself. After searching for him for the better part of an hour, (' _eight and a half hours until moonrise,'_ he reminded himself) Harry gave up and went to the library.

The Black Family library had been all but destroyed. Any dark volumes that could pass as advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts had been donated to Hogwarts, and the rest that were too dangerous to be kept had been incinerated. This had left the Library pitifully bare, save for a small section dedicated to Harry's old school textbooks and handful of books on Quidditch.

Following Remus moving in, most of the shelves were now full. Harry pressed his lips tightly together to keep himself from laughing; he knew that Hermione would probably never leave Grimmauld Place if she saw Remus's collection. Pushing aside the amusing image of her camping out in the library with a muggle torch and sleeping bag, he took a seat at one of the few desks crammed into the place, and summoned Hermione's tome of notes with a casual flick of his wand.

The notes Hermione had amassed for him were no longer the neat stack it had started out as, and were now creased and careworn. It was filled with page markers, passages were underlined or circled, and the most important bits he had changed the colour of the words to a vivid red. He knew that he would find no new information in the pages, but the words were a cold comfort. Picking out a bright orange page marker, he flipped to the section he wanted.

 

_The day and night of the full moon will be a time of great stress for not only the werewolf, but the claimed human as well. Lycanthropy is extremely taxing physically, and the werewolf will be much more sexually active, physically active, and have a much larger appetite than usual as their body prepares for the change. Wolfsbane will have no effect on these aspects, as without this physical preparation (extra food intake, in particular) the change is often very painful._

_The human companion may feel extreme anxiety, as the werewolf is still a creature of instinct, and not rational thought. Often it will be up to their werewolf companion to quell their fears, as the less nervous the human companion is, the more amicable the pair will be following the transformation. This is not to say that if the pair are experiencing a tense situation at the time of the full moon that the werewolf will become violent. However, the few studies available concerning this topic suggest that the werewolf will be more agitated following the change, and there have been accidental werewolf bites in a handful of cases._

_In most cases, both in oral interviews and on record, the werewolf will be fiercely protective of their human companion following the transformation. It is therefore unwise for the human companion to be in the company of others during the full moon, as the werewolf will see the other humans as a threat to their mate. This applies in particular to humans who have partial nonhuman characteristics, e.g. an Animagus form, partial Lycanthropy, Veela heritage, etc. In particular if the nonhuman elements are canine or lupine in nature, the possessiveness of the werewolf will be more pronounced._

_The werewolf in its transformed state will be drawn to its mate/partner, and it is ill-advised to separate the pair during the full moon. This will be extremely painful for the werewolf, and many documented cases of these bonds suggest doing so will bring on severe masochistic reactions._

_In no case, record, or oral statement has there ever been any record of intentional harm inflicted upon the human companion. The human is as safe with the transformed werewolf as they are with their human counterpart. All that is required of the human is their presence and support, as it is said that the presence of their mate/companion lessens the physical pain of the transformation, and improves their quality of life during the full moons._

_The first transformation of the werewolf following the claim will likely be the most stressful on the human companion in particular. In addition to the prospect of being expected to spend an extended period of time in the presence of a fully transformed werewolf, they will also be subject to the Claim of Dominance._

_The Claim of Dominance is vital to the wolf accepting the human as their mate. Some humans have entered into the bond ignorant to this rite of passage, and this has ended in tragedy of the wolf not accepting the claim and killing their potential._

_The human must willingly and with full understanding of their actions submit to the werewolf. They must show their wolf that they see them as the dominant of the pair. Generally the show of submission will be incited by the werewolf, and completed by the human. Most commonly, this will involve the human laying on their back and exposing their stomachs and throats to their werewolf. The werewolf will then close their jaws over the throat of the human, then release them._

_It is extremely important that the human of the pair_ not _panic. Displays of fear or an attempt to get away may be seen as an act of rejection or dominance, and may result in an accidental turning or even death._

 

Harry brushed his fingers over the words, wishing he could feel more confident in Hermione's technical reassurances. The concept of this _Claim of Dominance_ utterly terrified him, and he wondered often if he would be able to keep his head through it. He heard the faint creak of a floorboard, too heavy to be Kreacher's catlike footsteps, and a moment later Remus's arms wrapped around Harry's upper arms in a gentle embrace, with his chin resting lightly on Harry's shoulder. “All right?” Harry's mouth quirked into a small smile, and his breath tumbled out of his mouth halfway between a nervous giggle and a tremble of fright.

“That _is_ the question, isn't it? I—I'm just, well, you know.” Harry tried for a good-natured laugh, but it did little but heighten his fear for the coming night. The arms that held him caused a vastly different reaction however, and Harry was startled to feel an electric thrill run through him at the older man's touch. At Harry's words, Remus's embrace tightened for a moment, and he could feel the man's hot breath tickle the side of his neck.

“I will _not_ hurt you, Harry. I swear it. I have taken all the necessary precautions, I have taken my potion, and had I not, you would _still_ be in no danger. You are...” Remus trailed off, and Harry felt that telltale tingle in the pit of his stomach, and his breath hitched a little in anticipation. “You were my potential, now my mate, for lack of a better term I _promise,_ you'll be fine.” Harry reached up and squeezed Remus's forearm gently, wishing he could be as certain.

 

~*~

 

True to what he had read, Remus was like a teenage boy in overdrive throughout the remainder of the day. He fluctuated between eating through a sizable chunk of Harry's stores, reorganizing his books and the placement of the stacks in the Library, and sitting with Harry—much more closely than usual. The latter of his activities was slightly mind-boggling to him, as it was quite clear that Remus was struggling between stifling his obvious desire for him, and longing to be physically close. It had left Harry feeling slightly dizzy, with no idea how to appropriately react.

In many ways, Harry felt as though he'd travelled back in time, and again it was the night before the Triwizard Tournament's Second Task. Time seemed to speed up for him, the hours dissolving away into nothing, and with each chime of the grandfather clock, Harry felt no more ready to be alone with Remus's werewolf form than he had a week ago.

His panic had reached its peak by late afternoon, and it was bad enough that he had Kreacher bring him a Calming Draught. Harry felt like the potion had done little to calm him, and his heart nearly burst from his chest when he felt a warm hand slip into his. Jarred from his thoughts, Harry looked up to Remus's strained face, “it's time, Harry.” Harry looked out the window, and saw the orange and pink glow of sunset. Where had the time gone? Harry felt as though he'd only just had breakfast. Swallowing his mind-numbing fear, he forced a small nod. Remus tugged lightly on his hand, his skin hotter than usual, and Harry stood on stiff, unsteady limbs and followed him upstairs.

Harry was trembling from head to foot, and every attempt he had made to calm himself was about as effective as dousing a forest fire with napalm. The light of the sunset was more pronounced out of the bedroom window, casting the room in a warm, gentle glow. Remus let go of Harry's hand and grabbed his upper arms, forcing him to sit down on the end of the bed. “I'm sorry Remus,” Harry whispered, his voice shaking. “I'm just...”

“I know,” Remus replied, cutting Harry off, his own limbs trembling slightly, though for an entirely different reason. He carded his fingers through Harry's hair, stopping to cradle the back of his head in his hand. Remus pressed a tentative kiss to Harry's temple, his breath hitched and his eyes fluttered shut at the gentle contact. “Breathe. It will be all right, I promise,” he stood, and began to shed his clothing. Face burning a little, Harry turned away to give Remus some privacy.

Harry could feel the moment when the sun bowed its head to the moon. The very air seemed to thicken, and Remus's fair body had gone rigid. Bones crunched, his form shook, and Harry turned his head at last, watching with wide eyes as Remus's jaw lengthened, his spine crunched and reformed, grey and tawny hairs sprouted thickly over his form, and all to soon, Harry was face-to-face with a creature from his memory.

The werewolf was virtually unmistakable from a true wolf, except it was much larger. Harry sat rooted to the spot, watching the creature sniff the air and paw at the floor absently, leaving deep scratches in their wake. Harry held his breath, and didn't dare move as he watched the werewolf, all Remus's reassurances flying out the window as he watched wide-eyed as the werewolf slowly turned to face him.

His insides turned to ice as a low growl escaped the werewolf, and it slowly loped forward. Harry felt sick with fear, but at the same time, he was virtually frozen, his vaunted Gryffindor courage utterly shattered. The creature passed his personal bubble of space and the large, wet nose stopped just short of Harry's cheek. It took a great sniff, Harry's breath caught in his throat, and only vaguely remembering the words of the text he'd read a mere handful of hours earlier, he slid slowly to the floor.

The enormous wolf nudged him and growled, and still practically hyperventilating with fear, Harry lay down on his back, arms splayed at his sides, and he exposed his throat to the werewolf. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as the creature loomed over him, and Harry struggled to keep still. A nose pressed into his clothed navel, and snuffled its way up his chest to his throat. It was a strange sensation, but still Harry kept as still as he could, not wanting to give the werewolf any reason to harm him. As the text had said, a moment later Harry felt teeth close around his throat—feather-light but still hard enough that Harry could read both the praise in it and the threat— _I accept you, but I still have the power to kill you._

Hot breath and teeth disappeared, and Harry felt the soft scrape of a lupine tongue dragging across his cheek. Harry's eyes flew open and he turned to face the enormous creature. The werewolf was sitting down before him, its mouth open and panting in a clear wolfish smile. “Moony?” Harry's voice came out very small, and the werewolf offered a small yip in recognition. He reached forward, hands trembling slightly, and his fingers tangled gently in the thick wolf fur. Remus yipped again, nudging Harry with his muzzle, in what Harry could only guess was the creature's attempt at reassuring him.

Still shaking a little, Harry sat up and pressed his back into the side of the bed. Moony rested his overlarge head on Harry's shoulder like he had done so often in his human form, and he felt a small, almost hysterical laugh escape him. Harry reached up and stroked the fur along Moony's maw, enjoying the way the mixture of soft and coarse hair fell through his fingers. “God, Moony, you have no idea how scared I was...” Moony lay down, his enormous head in Harry's lap, and looked up at Harry with a near-human expression in his amber gaze that Harry could read all too easily. “Okay, yes you did, but I think seeing is believing in this case, y'know?” The werewolf's mouth opened in another wolfish grin, before lifting his head to nudge at Harry with his muzzle. Harry managed a weak smile, and reached out to card his fingers through the soft fur again.

“I'm sorry for putting you through so much shit Moony,” Harry said softly after several minutes of calm quiet, his fingers still threaded through the thick fur, but not really moving. “I mean, I know you _say_ it's okay, but it's really not. I want to be...” Harry felt himself flush, and jumped a little when he felt a cold nose nudge his free hand. “I want to be able to love you,” Harry shivered a little at the admission, “I'm just...I'm not quite there yet.” the tip of a canine tongue brushed against his knuckles, and Harry's mouth quirked into a small smile.

Harry didn't move much that evening, contenting himself to sit with Moony and fill the silence with inane babble, uncertain whether or not the werewolf would remember it come the morning. Harry rather hoped he didn't, as he could not recall ever laying himself bare like that with anyone—not even Ginny.

“I wish I knew why it's so much easier to talk to you when you look like an overgrown husky,” Harry ran his fingers through the thick fur, his knees pulled up to his chest and held in place by his free arm. Moony nudged his cold nose against Harry's jaw as though to reassure him, which elicited a small laugh from him, “I mean, like this you could rip my heart out or, I dunno, eat my kidneys or whatever, but...” he trailed off as the werewolf shuffled closer, nudging his enormous muzzle against Harry's cheek. He smiled, and reached up to pet the enormous head, pressing his cheek back into the soft fur, “you're just...you. I dunno if that makes sense, I can't remember ever feeling so safe with anyone before, I mean, not like this.”

Moony shuffled forward and sat directly next to Harry, enabling him to lean into his soft, furry side. He closed his eyes, and felt again that sensation of perfect peace and safety cover him like a cloak.

“I hope everything will be okay,” Harry murmured a few minutes later, alarmed at the swell of emotion that suddenly filled him. “Like...it's only starting to hit me that this is for _life_ y'know? It's not a few weeks, or a few months, or even a few years. It's for _life_. I didn't think I'd have much of one while I was at Hogwarts but now I do and...” Harry cut himself off, aware that he had begun to ramble, and he felt himself go a little red. Moony shifted and Harry felt the canine tongue scrape across his cheek again, then the enormous head rested gently atop his. “Thanks Moony,” Harry whispered, falling back into comfortable silence.

Evening pressed on, and Harry performed his evening rituals with an enormous, hulking shadow. It reminded Harry of Crookshanks performing Bathroom Sentry Duty, as Ron called it. The ginger cat would sit outside the loo and wait for Hermione, not moving a muscle until she reappeared. Having a werewolf do essentially the same thing was nothing short of hilarious in its strangeness, and Harry felt a significant portion of his worries related to the bond slipping away as the night progressed.

Harry settled into his usual side of the bed, his panic that had been at the forefront of his mind throughout most of the day had utterly exhausted him. He stifled a cavernous yawn as the werewolf climbed up and settled down next to Harry, the bed groaning under its weight. “G'night Moony,” Harry mumbled, as he set his glasses on the bedside table and snuffed out the lights with a small flick of his wand. In his sleepy haze, and not entirely aware of just what he was doing, Harry rolled towards the curled up werewolf and burrowed his face into the soft fur, a gentle sight of contentment escaping him as he fell asleep.

 

~*~

 

The perfect peace in which Harry had fallen asleep with was absent the following morning. This was not due to the fact that he woke curled in Remus's arms, which was no longer unusual to him, but the fact that the older man was very much _naked_.

Harry's eyes fluttered open slowly, Remus's face inches from his own, his skin ashen, his cheeks hollowed, and dark circles ringing his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks, and Harry felt a distinctive warmth creep up his neck, as he could feel Remus's bare legs tangled with his own clothed ones. He shivered and he struggled to curb the impulse to yank himself from the embrace. No matter how close they had become over the last few weeks, the little voice at the back of his mind insisting that his feelings were changing too quickly and it was all _too soon_ refused to be silent. Harry also could not help but notice how full moon had utterly drained the older man, and Harry was reluctant to rouse him. As he watched Remus, he mumbled in his sleep, drew Harry closer, and burrowed his face into the crook of his neck.

His soft, even breaths tickled Harry's skin, and he could not suppress the shiver that ran through him. Harry caught his lower lip in his teeth and sucked on it as he tried to figure out how to get up without waking Remus. Unfortunately, along with the fact that Harry was in no way ready to be subject to Remus's full monty, his bladder was telling him to get up, _now_.

With his mind clouded by the desperate need to pee, Harry carefully extricated himself from Remus's hold, and the werewolf did not wake up, but seemed minutely distressed by the sudden lack of a warm body next to him. He reached forward and blindly pawed at Harry's pillow that he'd vacated seconds before, and pulled it close to his chest. Smiling in amusement at the scene he'd just witnessed, Harry padded silently to the loo and relieved himself, then tip toed downstairs.

“Master is alone this morning,” Kreacher said the second Harry reached the main level. The elf seemed rather pleased by Remus's lack of appearance, and Harry could not help but roll his eyes.

“Remus is sleeping,” Harry frowned a little at the elf, who seemed to not see the disapproval, or if he did, he was stubbornly ignoring it. “Can you please make me a tray of food to bring up to him? Something with lots of energy?”

“Of course, Master Harry,” the elf bowed low, Regulus's locket scraping against the dark stone, “Kreacher lives but to serve,” there was something biting in his tone, but Harry wasn't keen to push it. Kreacher would get over his dislike of Remus in time, and Hermione would likely crucify him if he tried ordering him too firmly and she caught wind of it.

Harry waited by the kitchen doors, and soon he was leaden with a tray piled high with sausages, bacon, kippers, salted capelin, blueberry scones, and a pot of tea in the most hideously floral teapot he owned. He carried the lot back upstairs the old fashioned way, given that he had left his wand on his night table. He moved very slowly, afraid of tripping and painting the upstairs hallway with breakfast fare.

When he reached his open bedroom door— _their_ bedroom door, Harry reminded himself—Harry could see that Remus had finally woken up and had pulled on a pair of drawstring pyjama bottoms, though his still looked distinctly woebegone.

“Morning,” Harry cracked a small smile, and Remus's head snapped in his direction at once. His entire body seemed to sag with relief, and his mouth twitched into a small, tired smile at the sight of him. “Sorry, I thought...” Harry felt himself go red, “I know the transformations are hard on you, so I thought you'd rather eat up here, instead of at the table.” Remus gave him a strange, but not entirely unwelcome look. Harry had no idea what it meant, but it didn't seem exactly negative, and he tried valiantly to ignore the way it made his insides somersault.

“That would be nice. Thank you, Harry,” Remus's hoarse voice was barely above a whisper, and his words were paired with a tired smile. Encouraged, Harry stepped forward and set down the food next to Remus, and Harry climbed up to bracket the tray between them.

They spent the morning in bed, sharing the food Kreacher had prepared, with Harry getting up periodically whenever Remus required anything. He had not known what to expect the morning following the full moon, but Harry had not realized just how weakened the man would be until he'd seen it with his own eyes. It made his heart ache, and he wished he could do more for him.

“What are you thinking about?” Remus's voice cut through Harry's musings, and the warm hand covering his own was comforting, where once it would have alarmed him. Harry smiled a little, and used his free hand to magick away the empty tray. He shook his head a little to dismiss the faint concern he saw in Remus's amber gaze.

“Nothing important,” Harry shifted his hand a little to thread his fingers with Remus's. Conflicting thoughts assaulted his mind at the action, but he pushed them back. “I'm just a little exhausted from yesterday. I was...” Harry hesitated, and looked away from Remus, squeezing the older man's hand lightly, “I was really nervous about seeing you as a werewolf, considering the last time it happened it didn't exactly go over well.” Harry cocked a small, half-smile, and Remus huffed as though he was trying to suppress a laugh. “I'm just glad that I know for sure now—that I have nothing to fear, I mean.”

Remus's free hand lifted and carded lazily through Harry's hair. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation; it felt both strange and wonderful at the same time. Harry felt a small, involuntary sigh escape him, and he opened his eyes to look over at Remus. His warm hand was still resting lightly against the back of Harry's neck, and his eyes were wide and glazed over slightly. Harry averted his gaze, and he felt a warm flush creep up his neck. He knew that look well, one he had seen on Ginny's face more times than he could count. Remus wanted to kiss him, Harry knew that, but what alarmed him even more was how much Harry _wanted_ him to. Alarmed, he kept his gaze on his knees, and slowly Remus removed the hand from the back of his neck, though continued to hold on to Harry's hand

 _It's too soon,_ Harry thought fiercely, _I broke it off with Ginny what, two, three weeks ago? Why am I so smitten with Remus already? This isn't right, it_ can't _be right._ Harry gave himself a little shake, hoping his troubled thoughts did not show on his face. 

 

~*~

 

It took Remus another two days before he was himself again. Harry never strayed very far from the bedroom; keeping Remus company and calling on a disgruntled Kreacher repeatedly to have him bring Remus food. Remus himself seemed rather amused by Harry's attitude, and had tried to utter protest more than once that Harry's mothering was unnecessary, only to be cut off with a glare. “Don't bullshit me,” Harry had said, turning back to the parchment he had propped on his knees, and returned to his scribbling. “You're weak, I can see it,” Harry chanced a little glance towards the amused werewolf, who was watching him with a small smile “just rest, I'd rather you not overexert yourself and wind up getting ill because of it.” Remus would chuckle and relent, easing back onto his pillows to watch Harry work in silence.

All the while, Harry had felt as though his mind had been utterly overwhelmed with worry, though it was different to the fear he had felt in the lead-up to the full moon. His feelings for Remus were changing, and quickly. The speed of it made him uneasy, and it felt as though things were being rushed, despite the fact that there was no pushing from himself or Remus to move things forward. Harry couldn't work through his tangle of panicked thoughts without feeling queasy, and as a result, he wrote to Hermione under the guise of working on his Auror paperwork.

Remus was still a little tetchy whenever mention of his friends came up. Harry knew it was the magic of the bond at work, and not Remus's true feelings towards Hermione or any of the Weasleys. Because of this, he felt it was safer to keep mention of them to a bare minimum, and kept his worries to himself—he didn't want Remus to feel any more guilty about the entire situation than he already did.

 

 _Hermione,_ (Harry wrote)

 

_The full moon went okay, you were right, I had nothing to worry about. Thanks for all your letters, they didn't help make me any less petrified, but it's nice to have someone other than Remus to talk to._

_I was wondering if you could check up something for me, though. You said that this bond-thing doesn't affect the 'potential', at least, not in the same way. But things are moving way faster than I thought they would, like how I feel towards him and things like that. That sort of thing is supposed to take time, isn't it? I mean with Ginny it took months for me to get that far, and with Remus it's all happened in a couple of weeks._

_Can you look into it for me? I'll look into what I can here, but your notes didn't say much about it, other than I'm not supposed to feel anything—but I_ do. _It's weird, and I don't think things are supposed to be this...well, rushed._

 

_Say hi to everyone for me,_

_Harry_

 

Satisfied that he didn't sound nearly as hysterical as he felt, he passed off the letter to Strax when he headed down to the kitchen to wrangle up some more food for his werewolf.

 

~*~

 

By the middle of the following week, Remus was back to his old self, though perhaps a little more quiet than usual. Remus seemed to be off in his own little world, and more than once Harry had to call his name a few times before it registered that Harry was speaking to him.

“Any chance you'll tell me what's on your mind if I asked?” Harry would ask when this happened, his mouth cocking into a small smirk.

“It's nothing Harry,” Remus would reply with a small chuckle, and return to whatever it was that he had been doing at the time.

In addition to Remus's behaviour, the man seemed less prone to shadowing him everywhere he went. He was still never very far off, but Harry felt less suffocated by his constant presence, and as they days passed Harry felt as though he was finally able to breathe again. More than once, he wondered whether it was worth broaching the subject of returning to the office instead of being holed up with Remus 24/7. He could not deny that he had begun to wholly enjoy the older man's company, as he had begun to seek out the older man's companionship as much as Remus would seek out his. Despite this, Harry could not deny that his cabin fever was definitely getting worse.

 

One Friday afternoon, Harry's desk work was interrupted by a pair of warm arms encircling his upper arms from behind, and Remus's chin pressing lightly into the top of his shoulder. Harry smiled, enjoying the way the contact made his heart flutter, and he reached up to lightly squeeze the man's forearm in silent greeting while he leaned into the embrace. “It occurred to me recently,” Remus began, his voice low and almost husky, the tone causing a shiver to run through Harry, “that we entered into this relationship in a rather backward, roundabout way.” Harry snickered a little at the words.

“Yeah, that'd be putting it lightly,” Remus chuckled behind him, and gave Harry another small squeeze. Harry set aside his work and stood slowly, turning in the embrace as Remus's arms slid down to lightly encircle Harry's waist, while he draped his arms casually around the werewolf's neck. The embrace was almost unnerving in its intimacy, but Harry found that he had absolutely no desire to pull away.

“Harry, would you like to accompany me out for an evening?” Harry blinked, the words taking a moment to register.

“What?”

“Would you like to go out with me?” Remus repeated the words, his mouth quirking into a small half-smile, though a flicker of worry crossed his expression. Harry felt his stomach clench, his thoughts at once jumping to the case files he'd been working on, and his recent nightmare—the idea of Red Moon getting their hands on Remus was horrifying. Remembering that Remus had asked him something, he refocused his attention on the older man and attempted to quash his worried thoughts.

“You mean, like a date?”

“That's the general idea, yes,” Remus chuckled, his hold on Harry's waist tightening a little. Harry cast a quick glance to the paperwork he had set aside, where the report on the seventh werewolf murder in as many months lay.

“Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean—” Harry's explanation was cut short by an alarming look of anger that suddenly crossed Remus's features, and Harry realized at once how the words could have been misinterpreted, and he spoke quickly in an effort to clarify himself. “I _mean_ with the werewolf murders that have been going on.” Remus still looked a little tense and wary, and Harry continued quickly, “I'm not embarrassed to be seen out with you, I'm just worried about putting you in unnecessary danger.” At these words, Remus finally seemed to relax, and the small smile returned to his face.

“We'll stick to muggle areas, would that put your mind at ease?” Harry mirrored the werewolf's smile.

“Then yes, I would be delighted to go out with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sort of cliffhanger-y. I hope you enjoyed the sheer length of this chapter. I'm trying to spit out longer chapters, hopefully I can keep this up! I will be updating this week on Sunday instead of Monday because I need to do grown up things like run errands all over town on Monday and won't have time to update. Tl;dr, see you guys on Sunday!


	9. First Date

Chapter 9 – First Date

 

In the week leading up to their ' _first date_ ', Harry found himself looking forward to it much more than he thought he would. The concept of closeness with Remus was still rather strange to Harry, and the prospect of a _date_ with the man filled him with a mélange of guilt and genuine excitement.

Harry often found himself still thinking of Ginny, but the more time he spent with Remus, the more his affections for her faded, and strengthened for the older man. When he was with Remus, something as simple as an embrace would often leave him struggling to stifle smile of contentment. His efforts were not missed by Remus, who always carried a knowing glint in his eye in these moments.

Coupled with his excitement for the coming weekend was a feeling of mounting fear. With his work focused solely on the Red Moon case, he wondered often if it was a good idea to risk going out, even for something as innocent as a _date_. Considering how Remus had spent his adolescence, despite his quiet demeanour, it wasn't overly surprising to Harry that he still maintained an ' _I laugh in the face of danger'_ attitude, and thus seemed to have no concerns about going out for their ' _date_ '. Harry however, had his mind permanently fixed in an Alastor Moody frame of mind, and his watchwords of _constant vigilance_ played over and over in his head like a recorded message.

The days passed slowly, and Harry found himself daydreaming often about what this ' _date'_ might entail. It was a strange concept for him that he did not need to worry about the planning, Remus insisting on taking care of everything. It left Harry with something of a bruised ego, though he knew that the older man meant no offence by it.

Harry reminded himself often that it was Remus's instincts at work and not a deliberate attempt to belittle him in any way, but it did little to ease the sting. He had grown so used to being 'the man' in the relationship—that is to say, the dominant partner—that switching off and just allowing Remus to assume that role was still rather difficult for Harry. The concept of just going along with the older man's plans felt rather strange to him, and more than once he had to bite his tongue to keep his bitter remarks to himself. Part of it was genuine irritation at the expectation that he had to just go along with whatever Remus had planned. However, Harry knew that a larger part of it was stress and worry at the possibility that they were being unnecessarily reckless in going out when Red Moon were still at large.

In an effort to lighten the mood and ease his own mess of thoughts, he had begun to ask the older man at random where they were going. These attempts were met with Remus's familiar easy smile, and a kiss to his temple with the murmured words, “you'll see.”

The light, affectionate kisses left Harry wishing that the man would just kiss him properly. He had tried to muster up the nerve to do it himself, but he had yet to manage it.

 

In between Harry's halfhearted attempts at wheedling the details of their date out of Remus, Hermione had gotten back to him regarding his concerns about the bond.

 

_Harry,_

 

 _You need to remember (how many times have I told you?) that most couples who entered into these kinds of bonds were already romantically involved_ beforehand _. That means most of what I can tell you is at best, an educated guess._

 _Have you discussed this with Remus? He might know more than I would, though, like I said, as far as I know it generally doesn't affect the potential. I'll look into it; I have a few sources in the_ Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures _that might be able to help. In the meantime, try not to overthink it too much._

 

_I'll let you know if I find anything._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

“You look almost meditative, Harry. Everything all right?” Harry's head snapped up, and his eyes found Remus at once. The man was resting his hip against the entryway to the sitting room, and his arms were crossed across his chest. He looked so completely at ease as Harry watched him, and he was momentarily amazed at the contrast between the current Remus, and the Remus that had broken in a handful of weeks earlier. The werewolf pushed off from the frame and stepped forward, while Harry folded the letter and casually slipped it into his jeans pocket.

Remus sat down next to Harry on the sofa, close enough that their thighs brushed together, and he draped an arm over Harry's shoulders. He leaned into the touch with a contented sigh, coiling his arm around the older man's middle, while he rested his head against Remus's shoulder. “Just thinking about things...this bond,” Remus's arm tensed around him and he added quickly, “not how I used to, just...I dunno, thinking about it.”

Harry tried to sort through his thoughts, both of his own feelings and desires and how quickly they seemed to be manifesting, and what he was ready to discuss with Remus. He was still afraid of jumbling up his words, causing Remus to misunderstand him as a result. Harry stared into the crackling fire as he thought it over.

The hand resting lightly against his shoulder seemed to sense his worry, and began to absently massage the muscle it found there. Harry's mouth quirked into a small half-smile, his muscles relaxing under the gentle touch.

“I just...” Harry felt himself grow a little warm, “sorry, I dunno how to say it.”

“Take your time,” Remus's reply was a little huskier than Harry would have liked in that moment. His hand moved down Harry's arm, tracing the muscles of his bicep and tricep in a casual, absent-minded sort of way. Harry shivered slightly under the contact, though he did not try to stop him. It felt nice, and he allowed himself to enjoy the light touches, instead of overthinking it.

“Just...how I feel about you,” Harry felt his face grow warm again, and the fingertips brushing against his upper arm stilled.

“I just feel like things are moving too fast. These sorts of things are supposed to take time, aren't they?” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to compare what he felt for Remus after such a short period of time had taken him nearly a year with Ginny. Something told him that the mention of his ex would not go over well, given that the bond had yet to completely settle.

Remus was quiet for a long time, his fingertips returning to their gentle, absentminded caresses of Harry's upper arm and shoulder. He stared into the fire, frowning slightly as he thought. Harry shifter closer into the embrace, doing his best to make Remus feel comforted, despite his hesitant question.

“There are few couples like us Harry,” he said at last, giving Harry a gentle squeeze. The mention of them being _a couple_ sent a strange thrill through him as Remus continued. “Most were not thrown together so suddenly. Because of that there's no way of knowing for sure how the bond between us will develop.”

“That's what—that's what I read,” Harry felt his face flush for the umpteenth time, but Remus didn't comment on it. Hermione's name had perched precariously on the tip of his tongue for a moment before he thought better of mentioning her.

“There are records of couples coming closer after a claim has been made,” Remus touches became more bold, his hand moving from Harry's shoulder and down his spine. The appendage hovered over the expanse of skin between the bottom of Harry's T-shirt and the waistband of his jeans for a moment before it slipped under the thin cotton. His hand trailed up and down Harry's spine lazily, the skin-on-skin contact making Harry shiver, but he had no desire to ask the man to stop; it felt so _good_. Harry shifted a little to get more comfortable as Remus continued.

“Perhaps what you are feeling is the bond at work, or it is your own mind changing of its own volition...I'm not sure,” Remus pressed a kiss to Harry's temple, while the hand under his T-shirt moved to his hip and squeezed him gently. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, his mind going blissfully blank. He allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of warmth and safety that filled him, pushing back the part of his mind that still insisted that he _shouldn't_ enjoy it.

“I don't know if it's the bond or not,” Harry began, his words slow and slightly slurred, the hoarse quality of his voice surprising him a little.“But if it had to happen, I'm glad that it was with you.”

Harry could practically _hear_ the man's smile as he held him close.

  

~*~

  

The next few days passed in a haze for Harry, the only break in the monotony being his continued halfhearted attempts to get Remus to divulge what their ' _date_ ' would entail. Harry wasn't surprised when his attempts got him nowhere, but he felt too content, too _happy_ to care all that much.

At first, it had struck him as odd, as thinking of himself and _happiness_ in the same train of thought wasn't something that happened very often. Even with Ginny, when things had been bliss, it was always a strange concept to find himself happy, or even content. He'd spent so much time having the cause of his joy taken away so quickly it that it was always a shock to him when he finally _was_ given time to savour the feeling.

Now, it felt as though he'd finally found something for _keeps_. Harry liked the idea of it, knowing that this bond-thing secured something good in his life for however long he had left to live. It unnerved and amazed him in equal measure, as in the recent past such a thought utterly terrified him, and he struggled to work out which feelings were his own, and which were the result of bond at work. As time passed however, Harry was finding that more often than not, he didn't care one way or the other.

 

Saturday dawned with a light misting rain dotting the bedroom window, and Harry woke feeling comfortably warm, caged in by Remus's arms. Harry shifted a little to stifle a yawn, and the slight movements were enough to rouse his partner. His warm breath tickled the side of Harry's throat, and Remus pressed a soft kiss to the column of flesh a moment later. “Morning,” he murmured, the low rumble of his voice, still thick with sleep seemed to reverberate through Harry's chest.

“Morning,” Harry had buried his face in one of the pillows, and as a result the response came out rather muffled. Remus chuckled and rested a hand on the side of his waist, giving him a small shake.

“Come on Harry,” he said softly, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosted across the back of Harry's bare shoulder. The ghost of contact made him shiver. Of all the intimate moments they'd shared thus far, Remus seemed to have figured out that these light touches, were what Harry liked best. To the attempt to get him up, Harry let out a pitiful whine, and held on more tightly to the pillow he'd buried his face in.

“It's not as much fun listening to Kreacher insult me when you're not there to glare at him, you know.” Harry snorted into the pillow, and turned his sleepy gaze to the older man, smirking a little at his blurry form.

“Somehow I doubt that, but fine, I'm up.” Harry sat up with a small groan, and accepted his glasses from Remus with a nod of thanks. The room came into focus, but Harry found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Remus, who had slid out of the bed and was stretching his arms high over his head. The sight of him made Harry feel uncomfortably warm.

Harry never had much call to notice how handsome Remus still was for a man in his early forties before, but now he couldn't tear his eyes away. Harry watched the man putter around the room as he collected his clothes for the day, and with one last warm smile in Harry's direction, he disappeared down the hall.

He hoped his flush of desire did not show on his face.

Harry dragged himself from bed when he heard the muffled rush of the shower coming on, and sifted through his clothes while he waited for his turn. The sight of Remus that morning had filled him with a longing that had been growing more pronounced with each passing day. Harry plucked a pair of fitted jeans off a hanger and draped them over his arm then picked out a violently orange _Chudley Cannons_ T-shirt Ron had given him for one of his birthdays.

He sat down on the end of the bed and listened to the rush of the shower from down the hall. Despite Hermione and Remus's words, his mind was still struggling to just give in and _accept_ that he had fallen for Remus, albeit much faster than he had expected to.

 _Of course,_ he mused, _I never actually thought I'd fall for Remus to begin with._ The realization made Harry smile a little as he remembered how petrified he'd been at being left alone with the man when the whole thing had first started. Now, the fear he'd once felt at the prospect of being alone with Remus had dimmed to a healthy level of nervousness—given that for all intents and purposes he was a virgin when it came to intimacy with men.

Harry knew that he wanted to, but there was a big difference between _wanting_ to and actually _doing_ it. He hoped that he'd be able to get over the last of his reservations in time and go further with Remus. More than getting over it for his own sake—Harry was so tired of being scared all the time—He was finding that he had a growing desire to make Remus happy...to _please_ him.

Distantly, Harry heard the sound of the shower shutting off, and a moment later Remus's soft footsteps descending to the main level. Harry stood and headed out to take his turn, a small smile playing across his lips as an idea began to take hold in his mind.

  

~*~

 

Early afternoon found Harry standing in front of his open wardrobe, wearing nothing but his pants and the bedroom door shut. He rested his chin against the fingertips of his right hand while he sifted through his muggle garments. Remus had promised that they would stick to muggle areas, so robes were out. Harry was struggling with the temptation to overthink his desire to look good for Remus, and that little voice at the back of his mind that was trying to make him feel guilty about it.

Deciding that he didn't care what his misguided conscience said, he focused on the small selection of clothes in front of him. He didn't have anything that would be considered _posh_ by any definition of the word, and instead his fingers played across his less frayed and tatty garments, pausing to consider it for a moment before moving on. The clothes he'd worn that morning were in a heap just shy of the hamper, after Harry decided that for their first date, he wanted to at least _try_ and look good.

At last, Harry had picked out a pair of black jeans that were almost—but not quite—too small. The garment hugged him in all the right places, and he couldn't help but grin a little at his reflection in the wardrobe's mirror—a blessedly muggle mirror. He never had the patience to deal with the snarky comments wizarding mirrors often shot at him.

Harry completed the outfit with a thin V-neck jumper in a shade of deep green. It was slightly more stylish than the Weasley jumpers he owned, and it paired well with the colour of his jeans. As a last touch, he snapped his wand and its holster to his forearm and pulled the angora wool over it—just in case.

 

“Holy wow,” Harry's face grew a little warm at the sentiment as he descended the stairs, Remus straightening up from where he'd been leaning against the wall near to the front door while he'd waited for him. Harry slipped his hand into Remus's when he reached him.

“Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?” Remus pulled his hand from Harry's at his words, and instead coiled his arms around the younger man's waist, pulling him close.

“Well, you look wonderful.” Harry blushed a deep crimson, “Ready to go?” In the close embrace, Harry felt that pull again—the one where he had a deep desire to just throw himself at the older man and kiss him. _Not yet_ , Harry chided himself, _soon, but not yet._

“Yeah,” he said at last, “let's go.”

 

Harry still did not know what Remus's plans were, and at long last he seemed ready to let him in on where they were going by way of Side-Along Apparition. After the constrictive journey, Harry found his senses overwhelmed by the sounds and smell of the sea. The misty rain of the morning had passed and weak sunshine was peeking through the thin cloud cover, and the sandy beach was deserted. Harry wasn't surprised that it was devoid of people, with November giving way to December, it wasn't exactly beach weather.

Harry shivered a little and pulled his jacket more securely around himself. He followed Remus down from the street where they'd appeared and to the beach, while his hand fingered the handle of his wand. He kept an eye out for potential threats, but did as subtly as he could, unwilling to worry Remus with his paranoia.

“Cold?” Harry stopped and looked back to Remus to see that he had paused, his brow knitted with concern.

“Bit. I hope your plans didn't involve surfing, because I think you'll be a sorely disappointed.” Remus barked a laugh and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, pulling him against his side. “Come on, it's not much farther.”

Fleetingly, Harry wondered if what muggles viewed as cliché date spots were the same in the wizarding world. It took him a great deal of effort to keep from laughing at the thought, and with a small smile playing across his lips, he allowed himself to be led down the beach. Remus guided Harry along a rocky outcropping an the far end, which led to a small cove sheltered by slate rock, making it next to impossible for unwanted eyes to peer in at them. Upon seeing how secluded it was, Harry felt some of his worry slip away.

Remus pulled his arm from around Harry and drew his wand, casting a number of Warming Charms before he conjured a checkered blanket and a large wicker basket. Harry grinned again, feeling as though his teeth might rot at the sight; it was so _sweet_. The charms lifted the temperature to something close to a comfortable spring day, and he was able to shed his jacket and wear just his jumper without feeling the slightest chill.

“Does it meet with your approval?” Harry looked up from draping his jacket over his arm to see that Remus was smiling, but there was a faint trace of nervousness in the expression. Harry nodded at once.

“Yeah, it's great,” Harry chuckled a little and stepped closer to the blanket that had been laid out, more to keep himself from losing his footing on the slippery rocks than anything else. “I don't know what I was expecting, but this...it's nice.” Harry met Remus's gaze, and finally the older man seemed to relax, and worry in his expression fading as his mouth split into a smile.

They spent the better part of the afternoon grazing on brie, fresh bread, grapes, and overpriced red wine. They chatted the afternoon away with Remus, their conversation punctuated with mouthfuls of food and drink. They talked about everything and nothing; from speculations on the creative ways Kreacher might attempt to murder Remus, (“I still think he's too dignified to do something as common as feeding you ground glass. A generous dose of doxy venom however...”) to updates on the Red Moon case (“It's getting scary Remus, _promise me_ you'll be careful until we shut them down.”).

They were stretched out on the blanket with the basket between them, and they had fallen into an easy silence. Harry was watching Remus, while Remus had his eyes on the slow roll of the waves breaking on the shore. The calm he saw in the werewolf's expression was a relief, especially after all the man had gone through recently. As Harry watched him, a thought struck him rather suddenly.

“You know,” Harry said, his tone hesitant as he shifted his gaze to his half-full wineglass, its contents swirling as he thought over how to best phrase his question. “You know pretty much everything about me, but I don't know very much about you. I mean, beyond what people have told me.” Remus turned to him, watching Harry thoughtfully before picking up his own glass and taking a small sip, his eyes never leaving him. The intensity of the gaze made Harry flush.

“What would you like to know?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, reaching out to pluck a grape off its vine, though he picked at the thin skin rather than eat it, “what's your family like? What's your favourite colour? Favourite season? Food? I just feel like I know about the big stuff about you, but not like, the little stuff.” Harry shrugged a little, looking away from the older man. “I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” he added hastily, chancing a look at him, but Remus was smiling faintly, a faraway look on his face.

“My father was a wizard, and my mother was a muggle. She was more...warm, I suppose, to me than my father, in particular after I was bitten. That is not to say he was an unkind man—far from it, but he had never been one for grand shows of emotion.” Remus's expression darkened briefly before he continued.

“I had a lonely childhood, in particular after the bite. My parents were afraid of the repercussions of exposing other children to me. What if I scratched or bit one of them? They wouldn't turn, certainly, if I was in human form, but my parents were cautious, _too_ cautious, I think. It wasn't an unhappy childhood in the strictest sense, but in retrospect, it was a safe one.” Remus took a small sip of wine, pausing his narrative as he cast a brief, thoughtful glance to the scenery around them.

“I was well-loved by my parents,” he said, “and they always made sure that I knew it, especially after many of our wizarding relatives cut ties with us. They were afraid of me, the old prejudices were much like the muggles and their reactions to people with HIV—as though they're likely to _catch_ it, so to speak, by being in the same room as me.” Remus's words grew bitter, and Harry reached out a hesitant hand to cover his.

For a moment Remus appeared surprised, but smiled faintly and accepted the contact, turning his hand to thread his fingers with Harry's. “Of course, then Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster of Hogwarts, and I was able to go to Hogwarts, and that's were I met Sirius and—your father.” The pair both went red at that—it had never escaped their notice of their significant age gap, but with Remus telling Harry details of his life, it made it more difficult to ignore that fact. Harry could not deny that it was a strange concept that his current _partner_ , for lack of a better word, had been best friends with his his father.

Remus pushed forward through the awkward silence.

“Of course, you know the rest.” He smiled faintly as comfortable quiet descended, and he continued.

“My favourite colour is red, I like autumn, and I'm rather fond of haggis.” He barked a laugh when Harry wrinkled his nose at the latter admission, and eased back on the blanket a little more. “Now that you have heard my abridged life story, perhaps you would indulge me and tell me something of your childhood with your blood relatives? I know it wasn't exactly a pleasant time for you.” Harry snorted.

“Understatement of the century.” Harry shifted his gaze to the rush of the waves over the slick rocks while Remus chuckled a little at his words.

Remus had divulged parts of his life that were obviously painful to discuss, and it would be unfair to refuse to return the favour, but Harry had no idea where to start. He bit his lip as he thought it over; it would not do to have Remus get angry on his behalf and go murder the Dursleys. Harry was certain that the bond would not react well to Azkaban.

 

After a moment's thought, he spoke in a flat tone, not looking at Remus, afraid he'd lose his nerve if he saw for himself the reaction to his words.

“I dunno how much Dumbledore or anyone told you about what it was like before I started at Hogwarts,” Harry looked up, and the blank look on the older man's face spoke for itself. Harry laughed bitterly, not surprised that Dumbledore felt no need to tell anyone the details of his _delightful_ childhood.

“I lived in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven, when I was moved to my cousin's second bedroom. My uncle Vernon wasn't shy about giving me a good smack or two when I did accidental magic, but he never did anything life-threatening, and never on a regular basis.” Harry paused, focusing hard on the scenery while he thought, flashes of his past flickering through his mind as he spoke, each memory more painful than the last.

“The most serious that I can remember was when he accidentally dislocated my elbow. I think that was the only time he looked like he actually regretted hurting me.” Harry smiled bitterly, remembering how he and Petunia had practically had kittens over his injury and rushed him to the hospital, actually leaving Dudley with Mrs Figg, which made for a surprising change. Their excuse was that _the neighbours would talk_ if they saw him permanently injured in such a way, but the whole incident had always made Harry wonder.

“They weren't keen on spending money on me unless they absolutely had to,” Harry continued after a moment's pause, “so my birthday and Christmas presents were pretty pitiful, if I got anything at all. I missed meals a lot when I was punished, mostly when I did magic without meaning to, but I learned early on how to sneak food without them noticing it had gone.”

Harry shrugged, and looked back to Remus, who looked genuinely horrified. “It could've been worse, _a lot_ worse. I mean, the Dursleys weren't people I'd ever want to see again, but I think when we left Privet Drive that last time...Dudley was almost decent to me. Makes me hate him a little less than his parents.”

Harry blinked in surprise when Remus abruptly stood and moved to sit behind Harry. He dragged him in between his legs, his chest pressing into Harry's back and his arms wrapping around Harry's middle in a tight embrace. He perched his head on Harry's shoulder before he spoke.

“Being grateful that it wasn't worse is no excuse for allowing anyone to abuse you,” his grip tightened a little, a possessive edge to it that Harry recognized at once. In this context, Harry found it comforting.

“I knew you and your relatives didn't get on, but I had no idea it was _that_ bad. I'm sorry, Harry.” Harry smiled weakly, and rested a hand on Remus's forearm, squeezing it reassuringly.

“You didn't know, no apology needed. Anyway, it's over now and I try not to think about them much.” He shrugged and leaned back against Remus, a familiar thrill of desire and joy lancing through him like an electric shock. Remus buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck and inhaled slowly, the act strange and definitely one of those _werewolf things_ he'd been subject to over the last month. Harry couldn't decide whether he liked or disliked the sensation, as it was not wholly unpleasant.

“I suppose when it comes to our childhood experiences, we're fairly evenly matched.” Harry chuckled at Remus's words, and closed his eyes for a moment. The sound of the surf, the briny smell of the sea air, the warm arms that embraced him, it seemed so strangely perfect, despite their maudlin topic of their conversation. Harry wished he could freeze the moment, just to enjoy it for a little longer.

“It does seem that way,” he said at last, “except for the haggis thing. Eugh.” Harry mock-shuddered, and Remus's throaty laugh reverberated through his chest.

 

The afternoon had gone so well, Harry almost wanted to pinch himself, if nothing else to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. He could not remember the last time he'd felt so content, so _happy_. They alternated between chatting, eating, and wandering along the coast hand in hand, Remus's warm, easy smile mirrored by Harry's. When the sun began to sink on the horizon, Harry was surprised at how reluctant he was to leave.

“All right Harry?” Remus's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up and smiled, squeezing the hand that he held.

“I'm great. You?” Remus chuckled but didn't answer, and instead he gave Harry's hand a small squeeze in return before he tugged him slightly in the direction of the secluded spot they'd left a little earlier.

“Come on, let's go home.” Harry nodded and followed his lead, Remus packing away the basket and blanket with a casual flick of his wand, and vanishing it with another wave. He flicked his wand again to dissipate the warming charms, and after casting a cursory glance over their surroundings, the pair Disapparated.

Under Remus's guidance, they reappeared smoothly on the top step of Grimmauld Place. Harry shook his head once to rid himself of the claustrophobic feeling that always followed Apparition, and looked up with a slightly fiendish grin at his partner. Remus did not comment on the look, though he did cock a questioning brow.

“Well, Mr Lupin,” Harry began, giving the hand he still held a small squeeze, “thank you for a _lovely_ day. I believe,” Harry paused, and caught the side of his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and locked gazes with the older man while a thrill of nervousness lanced through him. He tried again.

“I believe at the end of a particularly good a date it's customary to ask for a kiss?” Harry felt as though his emotions had been switched into overdrive, nervousness, excitement, and desire racing through him at top speed following the request, and he felt his face go rather red.

Remus's eyes widened in surprise, and in the pink of the sunset his eyes took on a hue of molten gold. Slowly the shock faded and a beaming smile replaced it, and he reached out to cradle Harry's cheek in his free hand. Harry leaned into the touch with a smile, trying to show the older man that despite his nervousness, he was sincere.

“Yes,” Remus breathed, as though he was hardly able to believe his ears. He slipped his other hand from Harry's hand and wrapped his arm around Harry's waist, pulling him close.

“I do believe it is quite a common practice.”

Remus's breath ghosted over Harry's parted lips. He lifted his arms to wrap them around the older man's neck. His eyes fluttered shut and they closed the distance between them. Harry could feel his heart beating out a quick rhythm, though for once in recent memory out of anticipation, not fear.

At long last their lips met, and Harry finally understood why this bond felt so _right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> 1) Yes, I'm obsessed with sending my ships on picnics. It's cliche, but I don't care.(This marks the third picnic in any fic I've posted in recent history)  
> 2) I didn't have Internet access when I wrote this chapter, so I made up Remus's backstory on the fly. If there's any glaring inaccuracies you guys think I need to fix, please let me know.  
> 3) I rewrote that last scene at least 6 times. I'm pretty happy with how it came out, so I hope you guys like it! :)
> 
> See you guys on Thursday!


	10. Back To Life

Chapter 10 – Back to Life

 

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?”

Harry stood in front of the fireplace in their sitting room, dressed in his blue Auror robes. He was staring up at Remus, his eyes wide with worry as he repeated the question for what was likely the twelfth time that morning. It had only been a week since that first kiss after all, and Harry didn't share Remus's certainty that the bond would have been placated that quickly.

The werewolf's arms were wrapped securely around Harry's waist, his hands linked at the small of his back. Harry cast another brief glance to the fire, crackling innocently in the grate, then returned his gaze to Remus.

“I mean, I don't _have_ to go back yet,” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, half a dozen worst-case scenarios playing through his mind as though on a film reel. “I mean, are you _sure_ the bond is as settled as you think it is? What if something happens and you need to come see me and something happens to you? And without me here you'll be alone with just Kreacher for company all d—” Remus cut off Harry's ramblings with a kiss, his large hands moving to cup Harry's cheeks. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, and he threw his arms around Remus's neck, pulling him close.

“Harry,” he breathed his name, Remus's callused thumbs lightly brushing over Harry's cheekbones. “I'm not a dog, I will be _fine_ on my own for a few hours. The bond is as settled as it can be right now, and I do not see it causing any problems if you return to work. I _know_ you miss it, it can't be exactly fun for you to be locked up here all the time.”

Harry smiled weakly, but didn't disagree; he enjoyed spending time with Remus, but the extended time they had to spend indoors had definitely started getting to him. Remus kissed Harry again, more gently this time, and Harry struggled to stifle the groan of longing as he eased into the kiss.

“If you start feeling antsy, just send me a note with Strax and I'll come straight home, okay?” Remus chuckled softly, and pecked one last kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth.

“It's a promise. Now, get going.” Remus pulled back from their embrace and nudged Harry towards the fire. He looked back and offered Remus one last small smile, then disappeared in a swirl of green flame.

 

~*~

  

It felt very strange to be back at the Ministry.

The memories of what had happened the _last_ time he'd been here flooded into his mind, and he felt distinctly uneasy. As he stumbled out of the Floo and made a beeline for the lift, but he was still acutely aware of the stares and hissing whispers that followed him. The whispers was nothing new for him, though it was difficult to ignore the way certain people skirted around him, as though he carried some sort of catching disease.

Lost in his whirlwind of worried thoughts, it came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself standing before his office door. Harry shook his head a few times in an attempt to clear his mind, and stepped inside.

“Potter!” Auror Caldwell's wizened face broke into a genuine smile, and she strode forward to clap Harry hard on the shoulder. Her short and bristly silver hair was slightly longer than the last time he'd seen her, but her bright blue eyes still shone with the same energy of a much younger woman.

“Good to have you back, my lad. Come on, I have something to show you.” She gripped his shoulder and steered him further into the office.

Harry looked around as he walked; it still looked he same as it had the last time he'd been at work. The walls were adorned with photographs of known Red Moon members, and a number of buildings that were suspected to be their various headquarters. Caldwell stopped him in front of part of the walls where a number of new gruesome photographs had been pinned up. Harry grimaced as he stared at one in particular—a corpse of what at one time may have been a man. It had been flayed; the limbs seemed strangely extended and bent at awkward angles in a pool of blood.

Harry stared at it for a moment, focusing on the limbs and almost inhuman quality to them, the way they bent out at odd angles...and he gasped sharply suddenly in understanding.

“Yes, we came to the same conclusion—skinned alive, at the full moon.” Harry shivered, and his thoughts went at once to Remus alone at Grimmauld Place. For one wild moment, he had a strong desire to rush home and make sure he was okay.

Harry looked away from the photographs for a moment, took a deep breath in an effort to calm down. He refocused his gaze on the gory images, pushing away his personal feelings and observing them as objectively as he could.

“D'you think it's related? I mean, it doesn't exactly match the M.O.,” Harry studied it, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat the longer he looked.

“Ah, well that's where you _might_ be mistaken. Have a look,” she gripped his shoulder again and steered him away from the photographs and over to her desk, which was covered with a stack of dusty old books. Caldwell picked up the top volume, a thick leather-bound volume, and she flicked to a page two-thirds of the way in, and pushed it into his hands. Harry looked down, and he felt his jaw drop open.

 

_Many Dark curses involve the taking of a life to incant it, the most infamous being the Nex Globus. This dark curse has been seen used sporadically through history by Dark Wizards bent on the eradication of the muggle population; most notably in Rwanda, Germany, The Ottoman Empire..._

 

Harry couldn't read any more, and looked back up to Caldwell, his eyes wide with horror.

“ _Nex Globus_? The genocide curse?” Harry felt a little nauseous as he snapped the book shut, unable to look at the horrific illustrations that followed the text he'd read.

“The murders, the flaying...it does seem to fit,” Caldwell replied grimly, crossing her arms across her chest.

“They're at seven double murders,” she continued after a tense moment of silence. Harry placed the book back gingerly on the table, and refocused his attention on his supervisor. “This one makes fifteen deaths total. According to our sources, they need twelve in order to create their _Nexbolus,_ the energy bomb that will do the real damage.”

“In other words, we're running out of time,” Harry grimaced and leant against the side of the desk. He crossed his arms and tried to keep his mind focused on the problem, instead of his mounting worry for Remus. To his words Caldwell laughed, but it was a bitter sound.

“That would be putting it mildly, Mr Potter.”

 

Harry spent his morning poring over reports, old texts, and sending memos back and forth between the other Aurors on the case, comparing notes and findings with the others as he went. By early afternoon, Harry felt positively knackered. He was in mid-step heading for the office door to check something in the Ministry Archives when a familiar ginger poked his head in. “Harry!” Ron proclaimed in enthusiastic greeting, and Harry's face split into a smile. “Lunch. Wanna come with us to the Leaky Cauldron?” Harry opened his mouth to ask who he meant by _us_ when the door opened further to show Hermione standing there, smiling warmly at him.

“Yeah, that'd be great,” he grabbed his cloak and hurried out into the hall without even a backward glance to Caldwell, though he was certain he could hear her laugh as he dashed out the door.

Before Harry had completely crossed the door's threshold, Hermione threw herself at him in a tight hug. Harry choked a little, the hug effectively cutting off the flow of air to his lungs, while he patted her shoulder awkwardly until she finally let go. Her eyes were a little glassy as she stepped back, and she wore a wide smile to match Ron's.

“Oh Harry, it's so good to see you! We've missed you, how are things? How did the full—” Harry silenced her with a look, when more than one person slowed their stride a little too near to them for his liking.

“Let's talk somewhere else, all right?” Hermione flushed with embarrassment, and the trio hurried down to the Atrium and through the Floo without a word to one another.

 

After they had tumbled through the pub's fireplace and they had been settled into a private room, steak and kidney pie and flagons of butterbeer between them, Hermione tried again.

“So, how _has_ it been going?” She smiled faintly when Harry flushed a deep crimson. “I mean, you definitely _look_ better than you did the last time I saw you...”

“It's going well,” Harry said slowly, cramming a rather large forkful of pie into his mouth as he thought of how to word the response. Ron was leaning back in his chair, his portion already long gone, and he was nursing his drink much more slowly than was probably necessary.

“I mean, it's...different, but good different.” Harry smiled to himself and glanced towards the fire grate, his thoughts straying back to the man in question, and almost flushed (but thankfully didn't) as his heart fluttered in his chest. Harry lifted his tankard to his mouth, and Ron decided that that moment was the best time to be as crude as possible.

“So, has he slipped you the big greaser yet?” Ron grinned while Harry choked, half the butterbeer foam flying up his nose, while Hermione cried out in disgust and hit the guffawing ginger on the shoulder.

“ _Ron!_ That's private!” Harry was grateful for Hermione's indignation on his behalf, as he was too busy coughing and blowing his nose to form a clear response. Ron seemed unconcerned by Hermione's indignation, still positively howling with laugher.

“Well, _have_ you?” He asked again when Harry had finally recovered, though he was still rather red.

“Ask me again, and I will send you _detailed_ howlers about what me and Ginny got up to when you weren't around.” Harry smirked when Ron went as red as his hair. Harry knew Ginny well enough that she wouldn't be _too_ upset if he actually followed through with his threat. Ron seemed to think that was a low blow and glared at Harry.

“You wouldn't.”

“Yeah? Try me.” The pair stared each other down, Ron still watching him uncertainly, while Harry smirked. The silence finally broke when the pair dissolved into slightly strained laughter, and Harry only went back for another drink when Ron's mouth was otherwise occupied with his own tankard.

“Remus is pretty private,” Harry said when the atmosphere had calmed down once more. He shrugged his shoulders, looking at the pair somewhat apologetically. “I don't want him to think I'm discussing our personal life with other people, even if it's you two. He's still feeling pretty guilty about the whole thing. He doesn't say it, but I can tell.” Harry felt rather giddy as the phrase _our personal life_ slipped out, and once more he hoped his pleasure did not explicitly show on his face.

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione said honestly, her mouth twitching into a small frown. “I mean, he was sort of... _all over you_ when I last saw him.”

“That was the bond, not him,” Harry's defensive tone caused Hermione to flinch a little, but it barely registered with Harry while he pushed forward. “I mean, he's not like that normally. Like, we're close and stuff, but in public he's pretty reserved.”

“In _public_? Harry d'you think that's a good idea, what with Red Moon still at large?” Ron's eyes went a little round with worry, and Harry felt his heart lighten. Having this concerned version of Ron instead of the belligerent, jealous version he'd been subject to on occasion was heartening, and it was a genuine relief to see.

“We've only gone out a couple of times to muggle areas. We're usually alone, so the threat is minimal. I was worried about that too, but Remus has been good about sticking to places where we could easily see a threat coming if it happened.” Harry shrugged, and took another bite of his food, then made an effort to divert the conversation away from him. “Now tell me about you two. I bet you've been having _loads_ of fun without me.”

Slowly, they fell back into familiar conversation. They talked and joked, alternating between serious topics and casual ones, and it was like they had never been apart. Hermione and Ron took turns filling Harry in on what he'd missed during his time away.

“George and Lee came up with a new line of prank merchandise for people with pets,” Ron said, his mouth quivering between a smile and a frown. “He sent a package to McGonagall asking her to test out their Super Catnip for them and she sent him another one of those _George Weasley stop sending me cat toys_ letters back in a biting envelope. You should see his hands—he's _covered_ in papercuts.”

“You'd think George would've gotten the message after trying to send her a ball of yarn last Christmas,” Harry snickered, and Ron laughed.

“He's just a glutton for punishment,” Ron looked away for a moment, and the trio fell silent. The loss of Fred was still as painful as it had been three years earlier, and mention of the joke shop invariably reminded them all of the Weasley brother that had been lost in that final battle. Ron took a deep breath and shook his head, as though trying to shoo away a fly. “We better be getting back Harry, it's almost two.”

 

There was a veil of gloom hanging over them as they took the Floo back to the Ministry that afternoon. Ron's elegaic mood followed them all the way back to their respective offices, and Harry felt it would be insensitive to try and shake him out of it. Hermione had been as closed-mouth as he had been, and they exchanged a look of worry before she gave them each a quick hug, lingering a little longer with Ron, then hurried off to her own floor.

The rest of his day passed in a tense blur as his attention refocused entirely on the case, and he left that evening feeling as though his brain had been removed and replaced with cotton. The idea that Red Moon might be trying to wipe out the werewolves in Britain in such a brutal way was horrifying, and Harry wondered if they'd actually be able to stop it.

It wasn't as though Harry hadn't faced insurmountable odds before, but it felt different than it had when he was being hunted by Voldemort. It wasn't just _him_ that was in danger this time—it was an entire species, an entire _society_. It felt like they were looking for a needle in a stack of needles, trying to figure out where they would strike next.

Harry's mind was overwhelmed with dark thoughts as he stepped into the Floo and headed for home. He wondered how Remus had fared without him over the course of the day, and his musings were answered almost at once.

Before he had even stepped down from the hearth, as his ash-covered form was enveloped by the werewolf in a hug that felt more like he'd been tackled, the strength of it causing Harry to stagger back slightly. Remus buried his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, then captured Harry's mouth in a demanding, dominant kiss.

Harry shuddered under the contact, and felt as though he had been hit with a particularly powerful Jelly Legs Jinx. He grabbed blindly at his partner, uncertain whether he wanted to stave him off or encourage him. His lungs began to protest however and he broke away, his breath coming out in short gasps. “Give me a moment Remus,” Harry panted, his mind still spinning from the Floo trip. Remus stepped a scant half-step back, but still held onto him, his breathing nearly as laboured as Harry's was.

When Harry had found his footing, he closed the distance between them and pulled Remus in for another kiss. Remus groaned softly, and they broke apart with sluggish, reluctant movements. The look in Remus's eyes spoke of his clear desire, and the expression left Harry feeling strangely overwhelmed.

In an effort to push past the intense moment, he forced his mouth to twist into a small, amused smile. “I guess that answers my question of whether...” Harry trailed off, distracted by the room they stood in. He blinked a few times, then realized that all the furniture had been rearranged, and one of the full bookcases from the library had been dragged into a corner that had previously been bare. He looked out into the hall and beyond into the next room, only to see that it was the same in there—everything had been moved around, though it was rather attractively done, Harry had to admit.

Snickering, Harry turned back to Remus. “I guess it's assume safe to you had a boring day?” Remus's mouth quirked into an amused smirk.

“Not exactly. I sensed some distress coming from you through the bond this morning, and I did not think it would be wise to burst into your office and ravage you—” Harry snorted and went red in equal measure, though Remus ignored it and continued, “—and rearranging your furniture seemed a safe way to keep my mind busy until the sensation passed.”

“Well,” Harry couldn't stifle another small laugh that escaped him as he took in the room's new arrangement. Remus's hand fell to the small of his back while he looked over the changes that had been made.

“It's different, but good different. It's your home too, you know. You can arrange it however the hell you want. I'm sure your eye for décor is better than mine, at any rate.” Harry paused, and wondered how much of the case he could safely divulge, without getting in trouble with Caldwell. “There was another murder in this case I've been on. The details were rather...upsetting.” The images floated back into his mind's eye, and he shivered, Remus's hand on his back at once beginning to move in slow, comforting circles.

Keen to put the case out of his mind, he stepped further into the sitting room, brushing off the ash as he pulled off his cloak and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. He sat down heavily and Remus joined him at once, flicking his wand lazily and two steaming mismatched mugs zoomed towards them, Remus pressing the green mug into Harry's hands, while he took the blue one.

“I didn't know you could, erm, _feel_ me through the bond that way,” Harry said at last, his eyes still on his partner while his hands cradled the warm mug.

“Generally I can't, but when emotions are running high I may be able to sense it. Since I'm the, er, dominant partner,” he offered Harry an apologetic look at his choice of phrasing but Harry motioned for him to continue. “It's instinct for me to protect you, that's why I'm able to sense you, but you won't be able to sense my emotions the same way.”

“So much for an equal partnership, then.” Harry smiled weakly, uncertain how he felt about that, and at last looked down to the mug he'd been given. “This isn't tea...” he stared down at the contents of his mug, blinking bemusedly. Remus chuckled a little, and threw an arm around Harry's shoulders. At once, he eased into the embrace.

“It's _Chocolat Chaud._ Fancy French hot chocolate. I thought you might need it, after the...morning.”

“Good call,” Harry grinned a little, and blew on the drink cradled in his hands. He took a small sip, mindful of Remus's eyes on him while the werewolf waited for his reaction. Almost at once, Harry moaned.

“Oh my _God_ , that's good,” he took a larger sip, and licked the excess off the corner of his upper lip.

Remus chuckled and he eased back into the sofa's cushions. Harry followed his movements, a relaxed smile playing across his lips. They sat and drank in comfortable silence, Harry enjoying the feel of Remus next to him, a warmth filling him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

The reaction startled Harry for a moment, and he hid his face behind the mug as he thought it over. When this had all started, Harry had feared that being the _submissive partner_ would emasculate him in some way, or throw him into the role of the _woman_ of the relationship. Harry was rather pleased that none of his worries had come to pass, and he felt just as masculine with Remus as he had with Ginny.

Thinking of his ex now, Harry was amazed at how little it stung. Harry supposed having Remus near had helped him get over her faster, though it still unnerved him just how _fast_ things had progressed.

Harry slipped from Remus's gentle embrace and stood, setting down the partially drunk beverage on the table. He stretched, his spine popping in a few places before he began to circle the sofa and head for the stairs. Catching Remus's near-distressed expression, Harry smiled reassuringly at him, “breathe, Remus. I'm just going to get changed.” The older man smiled sheepishly and nodded, while Harry headed upstairs.

 

After changing from his Auror robes into his favourite pair of tatty jeans and one of his many Weasley jumpers, he descended the stairs to find Remus gone. Harry wandered barefoot towards the kitchen, and smiled as his suspicion turned out to be correct as Kreacher stalked past him huffily.

“ _Nasty werewolf makes a big mess of Kreacher's nice kitchen...Probably slipping poor Master Harry Amortentia, for shame...Oh, if Mistress Ginny could see what the nasty werewolf has done to Kreacher's poor Master...”_ Harry snickered as he watched the elf disappear down the hall, muttering furiously under his breath as he went.

“If you suddenly find rat poison in your morning porridge, don't blame me.” Harry announced as he wandered into the kitchen and leant against the small scrubbed table that hardly saw any use. Remus was at the cooker with his wand out and chuckled, though he did not answer straightaway.

“Don't give him ideas Harry,” he said at last, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

“I'm sure his methods to murder you are much more creative than whatever I could come up with,” Harry grinned and stepped over to see what Remus was doing. He could see carrots, celery, onions, and a bloody cutting board where he'd chopped some raw meat.

“What're we having?” He asked at last, shifting back to the table to stay out of the way.

“Stew,” Remus smiled as he said it, never turning his eyes from his task as he conducted knives, vegetables, and herbs with his wand, and soon the kitchen was filled with the savoury aroma of herbs and cooking meat. Harry's mouth began to water, and he was struck suddenly by how hungry he actually was.

Harry watched the man work for the better part of an hour, and when it looked as though it was nearly ready he decided to make himself useful. He pulled down the necessary dishes and cutlery and carried it to the dining room. He had only just finished laying everything out when Remus appeared in the doorway with the stew in a large serving bowl, a loaf of bread, and a large pat of butter, along with a bottle of mead. All of it was floating in front of him, and he conducted it over to the table with even, precise flicks of his wand.

Harry sat down, Remus him then himself, something about the gesture feeling strangely intimate, though he couldn't figure out why. He settled down into the seat across from Harry and they tucked in, and he found himself again positively gobsmacked by the quality of the meal that Remus had prepared.

“You say _stew,_ but this tastes more like something I'd find in one of those grossly overpriced restaurants in Diagon Alley.” The comment earned Harry a bark-like laugh, and he took a sip of drink before he answered.

“Thank you Harry,” he replied, a soft chortle accompanying the words. Slowly, a comfortable quiet fell between them as they ate. The silence was punctuated by casual conversation, both of them steering from the more serious topics that had come up throughout the day.

Harry was again struck by that shock—that _surprise_ as they sat there and ate _._ He never thought he could be anywhere near the realm of _comfortable_ with Remus like this, nor with the bond that now overshadowed virtually every aspect of his life. Harry doubted he would ever have willingly chosen to enact the bond, but not for the first time in recent history, he found himself grateful that it had happened. He no longer felt trapped by the bond or by Remus, and more often than not, Harry felt like what he had with Remus was a gift.

 

After they'd finished eating, Remus banished the dishes and leftover food to the kitchen and he conjured a tea tray. He carried out to the sitting room, while Harry stood and followed, unable to wipe the small smile off his face as he went.

Each evening following dinner, they would bring a tea tray to the sitting room, and they'd share a cuppa while they relaxed. There were never any demands tied their time together, and beyond feeling safe and comfortable with Remus, Harry felt _wanted,_ not needed. Not necessary, not pivotal to some grand plan—his presence there was simply welcomed. It made Harry feel less like the would-be boy hero so much of the wizarding world had painted him as, and more like a human being.

Harry settled into the crook of Remus's arm and accepted the cup he'd been handed, while he folded his knees and tucked his feet under his buttocks. Remus's hand moved from his shoulder to toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and Harry felt that familiar tingle of delight rush through him. He felt himself flush a little, his bodily reaction to the gentle touch not on equal footing with what Harry felt that he was ready for physically. It left him feeling a little dizzy with confusion, and fleetingly Harry wondered if Remus was able to sense what the light touch was doing to him, though at the same time Harry rather hoped that he couldn't.

Harry sent his empty teacup to the coffee table with a lazy flick of his wand a few minutes later, and it settled down neatly next to Remus's. At once, Harry felt warm lips press into the hollow of his throat, and his eyelids fluttered at the contact. Remus's right hand moved to cradle the opposite side of Harry's neck while he pressed feather-light kisses along the column of flesh, trailing his way up and along his jaw with infuriatingly slow movements before finally capturing the young man's mouth with his own.

Harry reached up to awkwardly brush his fingers across the stubbled cheek, while Remus turned a little, guiding Harry down onto his back. The older man braced his arms on either side of Harry's head to avoid crushing him, and ever so slowly Harry parted his lips, and Remus took the opportunity to dart his tongue into the young man's mouth. Harry's breath hitched a little, the werewolf tasting him while simultaneously encouraging Harry to do the same, which he did at first with a halting uncertainty, then with greater enthusiasm as he grew more confident.

Remus tugged at Harry's lower lip gently with his teeth, nowhere near hard enough to even bruise the flesh. He gazed down at Harry through half-lidded eyes, and lifted one hand to trace the contours of Harry's cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.

“All right?” Remus asked, his voice low and husky, the tone sending another thrill of desire through Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry's response was barely above a whisper, and he wrapped his arms more securely around Remus's neck and pulled him down for another long, open mouthed kiss. His mind felt as though it had been shrouded in a thick fog, and he struggled to ignore the faint twist of nervousness that rested in the pit of his stomach.

Emboldened by Harry's response, Remus's wayward hands trailed slowly down his front, and he pressed the heel of his hand into the front of his jeans. Harry broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, his panic momentarily eclipsing his lust; it was too soon, and Harry did not feel anywhere near ready to take the next step.

“Remus, stop,” his voice escaped him as a choked, fearful whisper, and at once Remus let Harry go and sat up. Harry felt his blush return, though this time it was one of shame, and not embarrassment or desire.

“I-I'm sorry,” he mumbled, pulling himself up alongside the older man, but he wasn't able to meet his eyes. “I want to, I do. But...not yet. I'm just—I...I'm sorry.” he frowned, staring into the embers of the dying fire in the grate. “I'm sorry for getting you worked up,” he opened his mouth to say more, but after his third apology, Remus silenced him with a gentle kiss, his hand cradling the back of Harry's neck gently.

“No apology needed, Harry,” Remus murmured, releasing him at once. “If you're not ready, you're not ready. I can wait, you don't need to feel embarrassed.” He paused, and the familiar placid smile crossed his features, while he reached out to gently squeeze Harry's shoulder. He hung his head, feeling so stupid for allowing things to escalate to the point that they had. Seeming to sense what Harry had been feeling, Remus spoke again.

“Don't feel ashamed. You're allowed to stop things if they get to be too much for you.” Harry smiled weakly, though Remus's reassurances did little to put his mind at ease.

“Thanks Remus,” he mumbled, still looking away from the older man in an attempt to hide how embarrassed he felt. Harry felt Remus shift on the sofa and press a kiss into his hair, before he stood and walked slowly up to the second landing.

Not long after, Harry heard the telltale sound of the shower coming to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chocolat Chaud literally translates to 'hot chocolate' but there is a Parisian version of hot chocolate which is way more rich than your standard cocoa powder, sugar, and hot water/hot milk combination. It's made with actual chocolate pieces (usually 60-70% dark) and literally tastes like you're drinking a chocolate bar. It's so. damn. good. (This factoid is according to Vegan Chocolate by Fran Costigan)


	11. Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains a sexual assault scene towards the end of the chapter. It doesn't involve rape, but it will likely be triggering for some people. You have been warned. It's also one of the longest chapters in this fic, so enjoy :)

Chapter 11 – Calm Before The Storm

 

As the days passed, Harry and Remus fell into a comfortable routine. They'd wake and breakfast together, Harry would go to work, and in the evening Remus would make dinner (much to Kreacher's consternation). They'd then retire to the sitting room to unwind over twin cups of tea, and slowly it would evolve into Remus pulling Harry in for a hungry kiss—until Harry panicked and Remus was forced to stop.

Harry was both ashamed and frustrated at his inability to go any further with the older man intimately beyond snogging like a pair of horny teenagers. As a man, wasn't he _supposed_ to want sex? Harry knew it wasn't because he wasn't attracted to Remus—he was—but he seemed to have some sort of mental block that was holding him back. While Remus was still patient with Harry whenever his fear got the better of him, as time passed and the next full moon began to approach, Harry couldn't help but notice how it seemed to be come progressively more difficult for Remus to make himself stop. That fact only added to Harry's anxiety, and it made it difficult to participate in any intimate act with the man, the niggling fear at the back of his mind that he might push Remus too far almost constantly present.

 

Friday morning, a week after Harry had started back to work, he was eyeing Remus from across the table, buried in the morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet._ Harry had been trying to ask him something all week, and each time an opportunity presented itself, Harry immediately lost his nerve, and put off the request again. This morning, he was determined to get it out. He took a slow breath to steady himself, he decided to fall back on his old standby—blurt it out.

“Remus, d'you think Ron and Hermione could come by for dinner this weekend?” Remus peeked out at him from behind the paper and eyed him curiously, though thankfully he did not look upset by the request.

“I mean,” he continued, “they haven't been by in ages and I was wondering if you think the bond is settled enough for you to see them without getting all...possessive?” Silence followed his request, and Harry watched the corners of Remus's eyes crinkle with a small, amused smile. He folded the paper and set it aside, then stood and leant over the table. He pressed a hand to the back of Harry's neck, and gently urged him forward to capture his lips in a light kiss. Chuckling at Harry minor flush, he pulled back and sat down.

“I think it's safe to say that it will be fine,” Remus smiled with clear amusement, while Harry suddenly felt a little hot, certain that the werewolf knew _exactly_ what the small show of affection had done to him. It was horribly confusing for Harry, given his reluctance to go further with him at this particular juncture.

“Tell me when to expect them and I'll make something,” Remus's calm, conversational tone distracted Harry from his inner turmoil, and he watched as the older man unfolded the paper again and flicked it open.

“Sunday evening at six,” Harry said at once, while Remus peered over the paper at Harry, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth as he eyed him quizzically. He felt his flush worsen under Remus's critical gaze as he explained, “Hermione suggested it on Tuesday, but I've been putting off asking you.” Remus snorted, shaking his head a little as he refocused his attention on the paper he still held.

“What did you think would happen, Harry? That I'd say _no_?” Harry grimaced, and prodded at his bowl of porridge, swirling the thick spoonfuls of treacle through it.

“Well I don't know what to expect with this bond, y'know? I mean, last time Hermione was here you weren't exactly that...conversational. I was more worried about you ripping their heads off, to be honest.” A choked laugh sounded from behind the paper, and Remus reached for his teacup.

“ _That_ was because the bond hadn't settled, and I was half crazed from it. The bond has more or less calmed at this point, and I don't believe that your friends have anything to worry about.” Harry grinned, though Remus couldn't see it, and he felt some of the tension leave the air.

“Great.”

 

~*~

  

Harry spent the morning in the field for the first time since he'd gone back to work. There was no break in the Red Moon case, and as a result he was dealing with human/part-human altercations, though nothing deadly—for a change. It was a relief to be able to do something active and outdoors, but he returned to the office that afternoon in a less-than-pleasant mood, made worse when he stepped into the office and at once Auror Caldwell choked.

“ _Merlin's Beard, Potter!”_ She lifted a handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth, “what on earth _have_ you been doing? You smell like—”

“—like I got swallowed by a sperm whale, I know. Bloody fishermen caught another water nymph out by Cornwall, and of course you know their elemental magic goes bonkers when they panic. Never in my life have I seen so many fish innards...” Harry shuddered, his brow knitted in frustration as he went to sit down.

“Ah, no. Get out of here and _shower_. I'd rather my office not smell like a harbour, thank you. Go on.” When Harry didn't immediately move, she flicked her wand and something that felt like a pair of invisible hands shoved him towards the door.

“All right, all right, I'm going!” Harry stomped back into the hall, ignoring the way more then a few of his colleagues clapped a hand over their nose and mouth as he passed. _And Hermione says_ I _have no tact,_ he thought peevishly, and stepped into the Auror changing rooms to clean up.

 

Harry stepped back out fifteen minutes later, fresh out of the shower and his robes charmed clean. He stopped short of his office however when he saw Hermione waiting outside his office.

“Hermione?” He called, and she looked up when she heard his voice, her mouth splitting into a familiar, friendly smile.

“Fish free?” Hermione laughed a little as he blinked with confusion, “Auror Caldwell told me. I was thinking I might join you for lunch. I've been doing some research I thought you might be interested in.” She cocked her head to the side in an obvious hint, and he grinned a little.

“Sounds great.”

 

They went to a muggle burger bar a fair ways from the Leaky Cauldron after they caught sight of a certain blonde reporter hanging around the pub. Over platefuls of greasy hamburgers and chips, (while ignoring the odd looks the muggles gave their robes) Hermione extracted a sheaf of parchment from her bag and began to riffle through it. “I looked into the bond as best I could, and I spoke to a few of my contacts at the _Magical Creatures_ office—some werewolves on the board.” She spoke in low, hushed tones to avoid being overheard, and Harry had to lean in a little to hear her properly.

“The problem is,” she continued, pausing to pop a chip dredged in vinegar into her mouth, “the Ministry has been extremely prejudiced against werewolves for _years._ It makes Elf Rights look like a walk in the park by comparison. Did you know it's only been in the last ten years that werewolves have been allowed to marry a witch or wizard? And before that any werewolf caught having sexual relations with a one could be sent to Azkaban. It's _awful._ ”

Hermione's expression seemed stuck between outrage at the injustice of it, and a deep sadness that Harry shared for what Remus must have had to go through with such horrifically unfair laws hanging over his head. Harry could see the telltale spark in her eyes, her righteous indignation at the injustice of it. Harry couldn't help but smile a little, and resisted the temptation to ask her if she was planning another button campaign.

“Anyway,” she continued, “even though the laws are way better these days, a lot of the publications tend to ignore werewolf culture and traditions, and instead mostly deal with how to identify them or kill them.” She frowned, while Harry blinked with confusion.

“Hang on, where did you get all that information before then?” Harry's thoughts went back to her novel of notes she'd given him a few weeks ago.

“There is _some_ , but not a lot. More than half of the information I gave you was from the werewolves I spoke to, since Remus was in no fit state to tell us much of anything,” Harry frowned, but said nothing. Even if Remus _had_ been coherent enough to give them details about werewolf culture, he doubted that he would have had much to say on the topic. In Remus's toxic self-loathing, it seemed to Harry that he knew precious little about his kind, beyond what he absolutely need to know.

“Anyway,” Hermione took a sip off her soft drink and sorted through the stack of parchment, while she continued to speak. “From what I gathered the bond _does_ compel you, but it's really subtle compared to how it affects werewolf in the bond.”

“Compels me how?” Harry busied himself with his lukewarm chips, piercing one with a fork and staring at it for a long minute before cramming it into his mouth. He hated the idea of being coerced magically into _anything,_ but with this it seemed somehow worse, because it was such a personal thing he was being pushed into.

“It's nothing _bad,_ exactly, it's sort of...sort of like being drunk,” Hermione grimaced a little at the crude comparison. “It inhibits your reservations, but it doesn't make you do anything you wouldn't normally do, it just sort of...encourages you, I guess?” She shrugged, but her gentle tone did little to ease the stress knotted in his stomach at the thought. Hermione seemed to sense his worry, and added quickly, “I mean, Harry, has anything happened that has made you feel like you're being forced? Has Remus tried to push you anything?”

“No, he's been great, actually. I mean, we're getting _closer_ ,” Harry struggled to hide a smile when she flushed a delightful shade of magenta at the comment. “But there's some—er— _stuff_ that I'm not ready for, and when I say stop, he stops.” Hermione beamed at his admission, and he took his turn to feel embarrassed, busying himself with his soft drink to mask the redness of his face. Thoughts of Remus's recent impatience with him briefly came to mind, but something told him it might be a bad idea to confide in Hermione with that particular fact.

“ _See_? It's not all bad, then.”

“But, Hermione...relationships...I mean, they're supposed to take _time_ aren't they? I've been involved with the man for nearly two months and already I feel...” Harry trailed off and shook his head, prodding sullenly at the food on his plate. “It just feels rushed, you know?”

“Harry,” Hermione reached across and grabbed his hands, stilling his distressed fidgeting. “Your relationship with Remus is part magical, part emotional. There's no right or wrong way to be with someone, love someone, however you want to phrase it. I've heard of couples who have eloped the day they met and lived happily ever after, and others who were with one another for _years_ before they even contemplated moving in together, much less getting married! I think you're overthinking things, and you should just do what comes naturally.”

 _I wish I knew that that_ was, Harry thought, while he forced a small smile and nodded.

  

~*~

  

That evening, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace and was surprised when he wasn't immediately accosted by Remus. He had grown rather used to the man being there the second he got home, and the heated welcome that always followed. It was therefore strange when he didn't see him, or hear any noise at all. Trying to reign in his worry, Harry trudged upstairs to get changed, only to yelp in surprise when a pair of arms encircled his waist from behind the moment he stepped into their bedroom.

Remus buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck, and the combination of his lips pressing against his skin and the faint tickle of his stubble made him shiver minutely. “Damn it Remus,” Harry hissed, “you scared me.” Remus chuckled softly, and tightened his hold on Harry's waist.

“Not a bad scare, though?” Harry trembled a little, his breath hitching as the warm wet of the man's tongue traced a path from the hollow of his throat up to his jaw. Harry tilted his head to the side to give him better access, a soft quiver of a moan escaping his parted lips.

“I've had worse,” Harry murmured hoarsely, turning his head as Remus's mouth ghosted along the edge of his jaw, and their lips met. Remus was still holding him from behind, pressing his front into Harry's back. The position was therefore not ideal, but Harry was too taken to care much, even when the muscles in his neck began to protest. When he began to feel his arousal pool in the pit of his stomach, as well as the telltale hardness pressing into his lower back, he broke the kiss with a soft gasp.

Remus seemed to understand that the vocalization was one of nervous fear and not desire, and relaxed his hold enough for Harry to turn in his arms. Harry reached up and wrapped his arms loosely around his neck, staring up into Remus's honey-gold eyes with a tangled mess of conflicting emotions surging through him. He opened his mouth to apologize for the knee-jerk reaction, but Remus cut him off, his anger coming off him in waves, making Harry's nervousness mount.

“Damn it Harry,” Remus hissed, his voice escaping him as a low growl, “I'm _not_ going to hurt you, what are you so afraid of?” The werewolf's hold on him tightened, but something about the possessive edge to the embrace paired with his anger made Harry's stomach roil with fear. It didn't feel right, and Harry swallowed thickly, uncertain of what he should do. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and make things worse, and Remus's body against his felt taut with agitation.

After a long pause, Harry opened his mouth to try apologizing again, but his words were cut off by a gentle, undemanding kiss that did not entirely match the emotions he felt radiating off the werewolf. Harry returned it eagerly, while doing his best to keep from riling the man up further. “I'll let you get ready for dinner,” he whispered against Harry's mouth, but there was a distinctive cold edge to his words. He untangled himself from Harry and left, closing the door behind him a little harder than was necessary.

Instead of changing his clothes, Harry sat down heavily on the end of the bed and cradled his head in his hands with a defeated sigh. _What the hell had just happened?_

  

~*~

  

Friday night and the subsequent Saturday morning were cold.

Harry had grown so used to falling asleep curled into Remus's warm embrace, and he missed it so much it was like a constant, overwhelming ache. The werewolf had been so sexually frustrated he barely shared more than two words with him over dinner, and had pointedly taken the guest room the night before.

Harry knew that the bond had settled enough that Remus didn't need to be with him constantly, but for the first time Harry rather wished it wasn't. Remus's side of the bed was painfully cold, and it seemed to perfectly match the sorrowful pang in the pit of Harry's stomach at his absence. It took him a great deal of effort to stay put and not try and crawl into the guest bed with the older man. Instead, he had reached for Remus's pillow and buried his face in it, inhaling the smell of him with a small, mournful sigh.

When Harry woke the following morning, he found himself spooned around the pillow, his arms clutching it tightly. It still smelt faintly of everything he associated with Remus—of parchment and ink, a heady, sandalwood scent, and the indefinable smell that was just _Remus_. Harry felt as though he hadn't slept at all, and his limbs were heavy with fatigue. He looked down at the pillow he held, feeling both stupid and miserable in equal measure, and felt uncertain about how Remus would be at breakfast. Was he still cross? He had told Harry that he'd wait for him to feel ready, but then why had he reacted so badly to Harry's reluctance the previous evening?

A soft tapping jarred Harry from his thoughts. He tossed the pillow back to Remus's side, he called out a feeble, “c'min.” He did not bother rolling over to face the door.

The door creaked open, and Harry heard Remus hesitate at the threshold, then slowly approach him. Harry rolled over reluctantly, unable to pull his face into anything resembling a neutral mask. He sat up slowly, and was certain that he looked as miserable as he felt. Remus looked as though he was trying for his usual calm, but it seemed to crumple upon seeing Harry, and his mouth curved into a frown.

“Harry—” he began, but the sound of Remus speaking his name ignited his anger like sparking flint. _How dare_ Remus try and make him feel guilty about not being ready to go forward with their intimate relationship! He'd never been one to roll over and pine like this, so why was he now? He took a deep breath, and narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“Don't you _Harry_ me, Remus John Lupin,” he snapped. Remus stopped short of where Harry sat in the bed, and his entire form seemed to deflate at his scathing tone. “You spent all that time being patient with me, never pushing, none of it. And then out of nowhere you pitch a fit because I won't—” Harry cut himself off with a growl of frustration. “I'm _trying_ Remus, and I—I enjoy our time together, I do. It's just...this is all new to me, I need time, and I thought you understood that. What changed? Why did you...act like that?” Harry's tone softened a little, and he turned his wounded gaze away from him.

“It's the moon,” Remus replied with a soft sigh. Harry chanced a glance up, and he saw the man watching him uncertainly, shifting from one foot to the other, as though uncertain what to do with himself. “It will be full in six days, and around this time I get...edgy. It's harder to adjust my emotions when I've inadvertently pushed you too far.” Remus gave Harry another significant look, and he inclined his head slightly. The silent assent was not missed, and Remus cleared the distance in one stride and sat on the edge of the bed.

Harry climbed into his lap and buried his face in the crook of Remus's neck, his body shivering as he clung to him. Too overwhelmed by how much he'd missed his presence, Harry did not feel even marginally embarrassed by his actions. Remus carded his fingers through Harry's sleep-tousled hair, and Harry relaxed under the touch. “I'm sorry, Harry. I never wanted to subject you to that, but it gets difficult at times.”

“It's okay, Remus,” Harry lifted his head a little and kissed him lightly, but did not loosen his tight hold on the older man. Harry felt as though he'd been scrubbed raw, despite the fact that their tiff was so small that it barely counted as a lover's quarrel.

“Just...next time maybe give me a heads up when you're getting all PMS-y, okay?” Remus choked a laugh and eyed Harry with amused confusion.

“PMS?” He asked, cocking a brow, and Harry cracked a grin.

“Pre-Moon Syndrome.”

  

Their Saturday went smoothly following their less than pleasant morning, and in an effort to put their squabble behind them Harry dragged Remus out to Muggle London for dinner.

“I must say, it makes a nice change, not having to cook.” Harry laughed, nudging Remus's shin under the table with the tip of his boot.

“You don't _have_ to cook, you tit. I think Kreacher would probably be happier if you didn't, as a matter of fact.” Remus chuckled as he pierced a spear of white asparagus with his fork. Harry moved to take back his foot, but Remus's opposing one hooked over his ankle, stilling his movements. Harry felt a flush creep up his neck, and though the long white tablecloth hid their movements, the curious glances people kept shooting their way was slightly unnerving. Remus smiled a little, as though pleased with the reaction, while Harry busied himself with his own meal.

“Yes, well, either way it makes a nice change.” Harry's flush slowly receded, despite the fact that their feet and ankles were still awkwardly tangled together.

  

The restaurant Harry had chosen, _Les Trois Chefs_ , was in the heart of Muggle London and it was clearly geared towards couples. Small round tables covered with floor-length white tablecloths were each adorned with a single lit candle. The dark panelled wood paired with the dim lighting of the place made it feel intimate, though Harry felt that the low buzz of conversation coming from the nearby tables effectively ruined the mood. Even so, the amiable feeling between them was leaving Harry with a strange, almost giddy sensation, despite their awkward start to the evening.

After placing their orders (Remus had translated the French menu patiently for Harry), they unwittingly clued their server in to the fact that they were not father and son, as she had likely assumed given their obvious age gap. Talking quietly while they waited for their food, they didn't notice her approach with _amuse-geules_ for them when they had shared a quick kiss.

Remus appeared amused by the young woman's near-comical shock as she almost dropped the small platters in her hands, while Harry flushed with embarrassment. The reaction of being caught by her, rather than being seen with Remus. Harry had had worse reactions from random members of magical community thanks to Rita Skeeter, and a few disapproving muggles didn't faze him in the slightest.

  

The reaction of their server aside, it was a lovely evening. The food itself was fantastic, with Harry eating some sort of white-fleshed fish in _beurre blanc,_ and Remus a venison tartare. Harry wrinkled his nose a little when it arrived for Remus, but made no comment. He knew the need for rarer meat at this time in the month was another _werewolf thing_ , but there was something incredibly odd about watching his partner tuck into a plate of raw meat, even if it _was_ supposed to be fancy French food.

“I saw that,” Remus said, and Harry's gaze snapped up to meet his eyes. He pushed forward the innocent face he had always used to get out of trouble while at school as he looked across at the man.

“Saw what?” Remus snorted, obviously not fooled.

“You know what.” Harry offered an apologetic smile while Remus chuckled, returning to his meal. “It's a delicacy. As they say, _don't knock it 'til you've tried it_.”

“Sorry, a lot of this stuff is pretty new to me. Like, I don't really know what this... _buh bank_ is,” he motioned to the half-eaten portion on his plate, while Remus pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly trying to keep from laughing at Harry's abysmal pronunciation. “But, I like it,” He finished with a small grin.

“And here I thought all those Fizzing Whizzbees over the years irrevocably damaged those taste buds of yours.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Remus grinned at Harry's mock annoyance, “I'll have you know I like a lot of things, I just wasn't exposed to _culture_ as a tot, unlike some.”

The evening progressed nicely, the couple sharing a slice of chocolate _dacquoise_ at the end of their meal when full to bursting, they decided to call it a night.

 

“There's just one thing I don't understand,” Harry said conversationally as they strode along the Thames, hand in hand.

“And what might that be?” Remus seemed to be in a significantly better mood than he had the night before, and his calm had rubbed off on Harry, his stress washing away as he enjoyed the peaceful evening with his partner.

“You know so much about food and stuff, so then why is your favourite _haggis_?” He wrinkled his nose again as Remus chuckled, turning his gaze from Harry briefly as they slipped down a deserted alley to Disapparate unseen. Remus slipped his hand from Harry's and looped them loosely around the young man's waist. Briefly, Harry recalled the last time he'd been held like this and he had a moment of panic, but the atmosphere was so vastly different from then that the negative emotion didn't have time to take root before he dismissed it and relaxed in the embrace.

“It's comfort food for me, I suppose,” Remus said after a thoughtful pause. “My parents took me to Glasgow for Burns Night every year, up until I started school. I always enjoyed it, and my taste for haggis stuck around long after we stopped the tradition.” Remus spoke with a wistful air, and Harry offered up a small smile. He couldn't recall ever finding comfort in food like that, but it clearly meant a lot to Remus, and he didn't want to spoil it for him. He turned his gaze back to Harry, and lifted one arm to lightly cradle his chin and leant in for a light, tender kiss. The moment their lips touched Remus Disapparated, dragging Harry with him.

 

Harry groaned and let go of Remus, staggering into the iron-wrought gate and gripping it as he shook off the crushing aftereffects of the trip.

“ _Warn_ me the next time you do that,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead into the cool metal. He heard laughter from behind him, followed quickly by a pair of arms encircling his middle. Harry tensed for a moment, his mind once more recalling Remus's anger from the night before with the simple action. The older man pressed a light kiss to the nape of Harry's neck, then released him to take one of his hands.

“Sorry,” he said, though the laughter in his voice made him sound as though he wasn't sorry at all.

Harry's mouth quirked into a small half-smile as he straightened up to see that they weren't far from Grimmauld Place. The dingy street was washed in muted, yellow light from the flickering streetlamps, and most of the houses shared the same derelict, woebegone exterior that Number Twelve did. Even so, the area had begun to carry a warmth of _home_ to him, especially with Remus at his side.

With a gentle tug on his hand, Harry followed Remus in a leisurely stroll up the sidewalk. Neither of them spoke, content to walk in comfortable silence as they stepped past a park, and row upon row of townhouses as they approached Number Twelve.

Tiny droplets of rain dotted the pavement as they slipped inside, and a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. “I've been meaning to tell you,” Harry said, shrugging out of his jacket and moving to hang it up, waiting for Remus to do the same before he continued.

“Tell me what?” He tugged Harry towards the sitting room, and they both fell rather unceremoniously onto the sofa. Harry felt a wave of relief fill him as they settled down, Harry curled into Remus's side, with his arm wrapped securely around Harry's waist. He was so glad their spat from the morning had been resolved; he loved these calm post-dinner evenings, and how at peace he always felt sitting with Remus like this.

“Hermione's been helping me do research on this bond,” Harry paused, and when he did not feel the other man react to his words, he pressed on. “And she's starting to get that _look_.”

“And what look might that be?” Remus's hand, out of habit rather than anything else trailed up his spine to the nape of Harry's neck and toyed with the messy curls he found there.

“That _spew_ look.”

“Ah,” Remus chuckled, while Harry leaned in and pressed his cheek into the older man's shoulder. “I'm assuming I will get an earful about the indignities of how my own race has been treated over the last two centuries?”

“I hope not, but at least it won't come as a shock if she gets started.” Harry grimaced a little, tangling his fingers in the side of Remus's tatty brown cardigan as he shifted closer to his companion. While he adored Hermione, she had the tact of a block of wood when it came to her causes.

“Well, thank you for the warning, Harry,” he replied with a small chuckle.

The pair went up to bed that night full to the brim with overly rich food, and the mood could not have been more different than the previous night. Harry burrowed himself into Remus's embrace with a contented sigh, and amidst the low rolls of thunder and pitter-patter of the rain, he felt into an easy sleep.

  

~*~

 

Harry woke the next morning to an empty bed. He was too content from last night to feel concerned about Remus's absence, and he laughed a little in his sleepy state when he heard the distinctive clatter of Remus puttering about the kitchen. Smiling to himself, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown, then slowly padded down to the main level.

“Isn't it a little early for pie?” Harry leaned against the frame of the kitchen door, smiling as he watched Remus beat some sort of chocolate concoction by hand with an ordinary whisk, a crumb crust pressed into a pie plate next to him. He looked up from what he was doing but he did not stop his whisking, smiling at Harry in that way that always made him feel warm all over.

“It needs to set, so I wanted to get an early start,” he replied, turning back to his creation, and picking up his wand to transfer the filling into the waiting crust, before he cast a Chilling Charm over it and set it aside. Remus set down his wand and stepped over to Harry, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, one which Harry gladly returned. Remus broke the kiss with a gentle nip of his teeth to Harry's lower lip, sending a little shiver through him as his breath caught. Remus's skin felt hot to the touch, and Harry knew it was in part due to the coming moon. Fleetingly, he wondered if inviting his friends over so close to it was such a good idea. Remus seemed to sense Harry's nervousness, and he brushed his callused thumb along Harry's cheekbone. “What's wrong?” His voice came out as a low whisper, one arm still coiled around Harry's waist, holding him close.

“Just thinking about...things.” Harry lowered his gaze, enjoying the tingling sensation that seemed to run through him at this closeness with Remus; but he was afraid of indulging in it too much, and creating another tense moment between them.

“You're worried about tonight,” it wasn't a question. Remus spoke while his thumb trailed from Harry's cheek to trace the line of his jaw. He nodded and lifted his gaze again, some of his stress leaving him at the sight of Remus smiling. He cradled Harry's jaw in his hand, and leaned in to ghost a kiss across his lips. “We're learning as we go. I cannot guarantee that I will be...my old self with them tonight, but I feel that the bond is settled enough for you to have your friends over without incident. I'm afraid I know very little of what will happen as we go forward with this bond. All we can do is hope for the best, and be prepared for the worst.”

Harry wrapped his arms loosely around Remus's waist, and pressed his cheek against the man's chest with a small sigh, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I wish I could be as level-headed about this as you,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut as Remus's hand moved to run through his hair affectionately.

“Level-headedness has never been one of your strong suits, as I recall,” Remus chuckled, and Harry lifted his gaze to give the man a mock glare.

 

The day passed slowly for Harry, though he suspected that was due to the fact that he was a tangled mess of nerves regarding the coming evening. His self doubt took centre stage, and bits of his first encounters with Remus following the accidental bond flashed before his eyes, and he felt his stomach contract with worry. Remus, in contrast, seemed to be incapable of sitting still for more than five minutes at a time, and spent most of the day in the kitchen.

“You know, it's just Ron and Hermione,” Harry had commented as he sat on the surface of the kitchen table to watch Remus work. “You don't need to go to all this trouble just for them.” Harry plucked a roll off the plate next to him and ripped off a chunk with his teeth. “They'd be just as happy with a dozen bacon sandwiches or whatever,” he said thickly around the bread in his mouth. Remus cast him a look of amusement over his shoulder, and went back to what he was doing.

“They're your friends, Harry,” Remus paused to summon a rather large chef's knife to him, then resumed speaking, “they're practically your siblings, I know how close the three of you are. I'm happy to do it.”

“As long as you want to, I'll shut up about it,” Harry frowned a little, and swallowed his overlarge mouthful. “I just don't want you to make a big fuss or anything, it isn't necessary.” At his words, Remus paused what he was doing, pivoted on his heel and stepped over to Harry. With him sitting on the table as he was they were at eye level, and Harry was startled by the intense gaze staring back at him. Remus reached out and cradled the back of Harry's neck, and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“You are _worth_ it, Harry.”

Harry felt his face go very red.

  

~*~

  

Harry hated how nervous he felt.

With an attempt at normal casual, he had thrown on his favourite pair of 'nice' jeans—the same black jeans he'd worn for their first date, as well as a violently orange _Chudley Cannons_ T-shirt that was on the side of almost too tight. He headed down to the main level to find Remus hanging back and allowing Kreacher to set the table, though the elf still looked distinctly bad-tempered, shooting Remus dark looks every few seconds.

Remus looked up when Harry approached, and gave him a quick once-over, and his eyes glimmered with quiet laughter. Harry blinked with confusion at the look he was being given, and looked down at himself. When he saw nothing off with his clothing, he looked back up to Remus, his brow knitted with confusion. “Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?”

“ _Wrong_ isn't exactly the word I'd use, no,” he strode across the room, his movement slow and languid, and Harry had the distinct impression of a wolf stalking his prey. Remus slipped his arms around Harry's waist and tugged him a little closer, and he laughed a little as he stumbled deliberately into the older man's embrace. Remus captured Harry's mouth with his own, a low, animalistic growl escaping his throat as he coaxed Harry's mouth open, and their tongues tangling together at once.

Harry groaned, his arms locking around Remus's neck, one hand reaching up to tangle into the older man's hair. “You look downright _edible_ ,” Remus murmured against his lips, and without pause he took Harry's mouth again.

Harry felt dizzy, his mind a whirlwind of desire, and he found himself rather suddenly wanting to let the man bend him over the dining room table, his own reservations up to that point be damned. Harry gripped onto Remus more tightly, utterly confused and aroused in equal measure, while he allowed the werewolf to plunder his mouth quite thoroughly.

Any inkling either of them had to move things forward was cut short when Ron and Hermione tumbled out of their hearth. Harry's brain did not immediately register that his friends had arrived, and Hermione's small squeak of surprise brought him back to himself, and the pair jumped apart.

Hermione's cheeks were rather pink, while Ron seemed incapable of looking at him, though Harry recognized it as embarrassment, rather than any sort of misplaced anger or jealousy. Harry was certain it had to look weird to an outsider who had not seen them together before. “Er, hi guys.”

Remus went for his trademark placid smile, but the attempt was hindered somewhat by the clear embarrassment on his face. “Ron, Hermione,” he nodded to each of them in turn, “you look well.”

“Prof—Remus,” Hermione flushed as she corrected herself, “you look, er, better.” Remus chuckled, while Hermione went a little pink again. Remus wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, his hand gripping his hip a little more tightly than was probably necessary. Harry could feel the tense anxiety of the man next to him, and knew that the embrace was not meant to be as casual as it first appeared, but a silent show of dominance and claim. While Harry had caught the undertones of the gesture, of Remus essentially telling his friends, _Harry is mine._ Hermione and Ron's lack of response told Harry that it had probably gone over their heads.

“Thank you, Hermione, I _feel_ better” he smiled again, and Harry thought he looked much more like himself in that moment. It warmed his heart to see, and Harry felt himself relax a little. The implication behind his words caused Harry to flush a little, which became worsen when Ron cocked a suggestive brow at him. Remus tugged lightly on Harry, and motioned towards towards the dining room, “come along, I hope you two are hungry.” At the mention of food, Ron's face lit up, though Hermione looked strangely troubled. Harry tried to ignore the look on her face as he allowed himself to be led away.

Over a sumptuous dinner of stuffed duck wrapped in pastry, Harry fell into easy conversation with Ron, while he listened to Hermione engage Remus in discussion concerning werewolf rights. He kept a careful ear on the conversation, just in case Hermione got ahead of herself.

“I mean, I knew it was bad, but I honestly had no idea _how_ awful it was. It's such a relief that Kingsley's making some real efforts towards werewolf equal rights...”

“...Regardless if Kingsley removes all the anti-werewolf legislation now or in six months, it will be a long time before my kind feel inclined to trust wizardkind to not persecute us. There is a reason so many choose pack life away from wizarding society, so much damage has been done...”

Harry exchanged a knowing look with the older man, and he inclined his head minutely in understanding. Reaching under the table, he squeezed Remus's hand, and the small gesture seemed to calm him, and he managed to maintain a civil tongue while the pair debated.

Given that the full moon was so close, Harry realized that while the evening was far from perfect, it could have been a _lot_ worse. Over chocolate cream pie piled high with golden meringue, talk turned to Ron and Hermione's recent major life decision: Moving in together.

“We didn't want to say anything until it was all finalized,” Ron said with a grin, looking rather pleased with himself. “It's nothing fancy, just a little flat in Hogsmeade on the high street.”

“Oh Harry we have to have you two over soon, it's just _perfect_!” In her excitement, she reached across the table and grabbed Harry's hand. In an instant, every muscle in Remus's body seemed to tense, and Harry quickly extricated himself from her and laid one of his hands over his. Remus shifted his gaze to Harry, his eyes taking on a feral edge that made him a little nervous, and he squeezed the older man's hand tightly. He deliberately kept his focus on Remus, not saying a word, and he did not shift his gaze from the older man until he calmed.

Slowly, Harry looked back to Hermione, smiling faintly as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “It sounds great you guys, I can't wait to see it.”

Following Hermione's mistake, the wolf in Remus seemed determined to stake his claim, and had maintained some sort of physical contact with Harry at all times throughout the remainder of the evening. While Harry had grown used to such casual touches, he could imagine it was rather strange for his friends to see their ex-professor touching him like that. Hermione kept casting him worried looks, while Ron was avoiding his eye. Harry wasn't sure what it meant, and he was almost afraid to ask.

The quartet moved to the sitting room following dinner and out of habit Harry sat down next to Remus on the sofa, and the older man rested his hand against the back of Harry's neck, tickling the sparse curls he found there. Remus seemed determined to maintain some sense of normalcy to the evening, despite his wolf instincts clearly pushing him towards something else entirely.

Remus prompted Ron and Hermione in turn for details of their personal and professional lives. His friends' responses were strangely tense, and they kept exchanging strange, significant looks that left Harry feeling distinctly unsettled, though he struggled to pinpoint exactly why. Harry was content to stay quiet and listen, all his stress regarding the dinner had left him utterly exhausted, and the heavy food Remus had prepared had left him feeling delightfully full and sleepy.

“Well, I think we best get going,” Hermione said as last, a little more brightly than was probably necessary. Something about it left Harry feeling on edge, though he swallowed his nervousness as best he could. She stood and the others followed suit, while Harry and Remus wore similar calm smiles, Ron and Hermione in contrast looked unnervingly tense.

“It was a pleasure having you two,” Remus smiled at Hermione in particular who appeared a little uncertain, “you're welcome any time, though perhaps check before you tumble in next time.” Harry turned his head away and forced his laugh out as a cough as his two best friends went bright red.

“Seriously though,” Harry said when he'd recovered, “stop by whenever.” He grinned, the expression falling a little when neither of them returned it.

Harry and Remus escorted the pair to the Floo, and they watched the couple disappear in a flash of green flame. Harry huffed a sigh, and leaned back against Remus, who still had an arm around him. “Well, that went better than I thought it would.”

“I believe your predictions for the evening were about as accurate as Sybill Trelawney's would have been,” Remus mused, while Harry snickered. “Quite an achievement. I must say, I'm impressed.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Harry's mouth was still twisted into an amused smile, while the pair moved back to the couch. Harry rested his cheek against Remus's shoulder, while the man returned to playing with his hair. “Hermione kept getting these weird looks after dessert. I dunno what she was thinking, but it was kind of odd.”

“Hmm,” the noncommittal grunt did little to ease Harry's worries, and he closed his eyes, the hand in his hair making him drowsy.

“I just hope she doesn't jump to some mad conclusion,” Harry stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, and untangled himself from his partner reluctantly. “Sorry,” he smiled “I'm gonna head to bed, I think.” Harry bowed to kiss Remus one last time. “Thanks for dinner, it was amazing,” he whispered his gratitude against Remus's mouth, then reluctantly stepped back and headed upstairs.

 

In the comfortable dark, Harry burrowed his face into the cool pillows with a contented sigh. Despite the weirdness he had sensed from Hermione, he felt as though the evening had gone remarkably well, considering. Not long after he'd settled in Harry felt the bed dip as Remus joined him, his warm chest pressing into Harry's back while he curled an arm around his middle to hold him close.

In his sleepy haze, Harry felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and shifted a little to ease back into the embrace Remus offered.

 

~*~

  

The work week slid by slowly, and Harry felt much calmer with the approaching full moon than he had felt preceding the last one. He punctuated the work on the Red Moon case with spending his lunches with his friends, and his evenings with Remus. Hermione had said nothing of their evening the previous weekend, but over the coming days she continued to look strained, as though there was something she wanted to say, but for some reason or another—couldn't. Harry had a funny feeling he knew what it was about, but he had little desire to get into it with her, and as such didn't prompt her.

Hermione's restraint utterly shattered Thursday afternoon, when he had accompanied her to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. “Harry,” Hermione began, while Harry struggled to keep his expression neutral. She had taken on her lecturing tone, and he knew losing his temper wouldn't help matters.

“What is it, Hermione?” Despite Harry's best efforts, there was still a defensive edge to his tone. He took a great bite of his sandwich in an effort to conceal his nervousness.

“I just wanted to ask about the other night,” she began timidly, and looked up at him as though she expected him to bite her head off. When he said nothing, she continued. “It's just, I know I read all those things about the bond between you and Remus, but I thought you said the bond was settled.”

“It _is_ settled. At least, as it can be for the moment. I wouldn't have invited you two over if I thought Remus would be a threat to you or Ron.” Harry's brow furrowed in confusion as his words seemed to increase Hermione's worry, instead of calm it.

“I know Harry, but what about _you_?” Her worried tone bordered on fear, and Harry could feel his confusion grow more pronounced.

“What d'you mean?”

“I mean, Remus getting all handsy with you after I grabbed your hand. Do you think that's _normal_?” Harry frowned at her, as it was most unlike her to be so closed-minded.

“Remus isn't human, Hermione. You have to remember that,” he paused, but was rather proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. “The full moon is tomorrow night, and the days leading up to it always make him edgy and more wolf than man in some ways. You took Defence Against the Dark Arts, you _know_ that.” Hermione looked away from him guiltily, her chin quivering a little as though she was just barely managing to hold back a flood of tears.

“I know Harry, I'm just worried about you. I mean, what if Remus hurts you, even accidentally?” She looked back to him and caught his gaze, her own was glassy, and her bottom lip quivered dangerously. Before Harry had even started to formulate an answer, Hermione stood up and launched herself at him in a bone-crushing hug that could rival Hagrid's in strength.

Harry choked his surprise, and felt the telltale wetness of her tears against his shoulder. She pulled back after a moment, her eyes still rather damp. “Just promise me you'll be careful, all right?” Harry cracked a small, lopsided grin.

“I always am. I like the quiet life, you know me.”

  

~*~

  

That evening, Harry stumbled out of the hearth to an empty sitting room. He didn't understand exactly why, but the sight of the deserted space left him with an deep feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach.

“Remus?” The call went unanswered. Harry struggled to dismiss the sense of foreboding that settled in the pit of his stomach, and he stepped into the hall and up the stairs, chewing the inside of his cheek out of nervous habit as he went.

On the top landing, Harry made a beeline for their bedroom, and his eyes found Remus at once, but the beginnings of smile at seeing him died instantly. The werewolf was standing at the end of the bed, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed with barely-controlled fury.

Startled, Harry took a nervous step back, but with a slight flick of Remus's wand, the door slammed shut behind him. His panic intensified, and she opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when the older man's eyes flicked towards Harry's night table. He followed Remus's gaze, and in an instant Harry felt all the colour drain from his face.

Sitting innocently upon the dark wood was a small, velvet box that Harry recognized at once.

“Remus,” Harry began, whipping his gaze back to his partner, his voice shaking a little with fear, as the man still looked murderous. “You don't understand, it's not—”

“—not what I think?” Remus's voice was little more than a low growl, the rage that laced his words so chillingly un-Remus that it made Harry feel sick with fear. He circled the end of the bed, and advanced on Harry, his slow, predatory movements making it clear that his human mind was definitely _not_ in control.

“What am I supposed to think,” he growled, anger, jealousy, and hurt bleeding into his tone in equal measure, “when I find an engagement ring, clearly designed for a woman, and you come home _reeking_ of Hermione Granger?” Harry backed up, and he felt his back press into the hard wood of the door. His breath caught, and he stared at Remus with wide eyes.

“It's not what you think,” the repeated words came out in a rush, his heart beating out a furious rhythm in his chest. “I had that ring for ages, I just couldn't bring myself to bin it—” he stopped short when Remus reached him, slamming his hands into the door on either side of Harry's head, making him jump, the action effectively caging him in. The eyes that stared down at him were the same honey gold they always were, though deeply bloodshot, ringed with red, and almost glowing in his rage.

“You're _mine_ ,” he growled, one hand reaching forward to twist in his hair, Harry's breath hitching with pain as Remus punctuated his words with a sharp yank. Harry just barely managed to bite back a whimper of fright.

“They cannot have you,” Harry yelped in shock as he was suddenly dragged from the door by his hair and thrown bodily onto the bed, and within seconds Remus was on him again, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss.

Harry reached up and grappled at his robes in an effort to push him off, but even with his added muscle from his Auror training he could not match a werewolf in brute strength. Remus released a canine growl and he grabbed Harry by the wrists, pinning them roughly above his head. Harry squirmed and struggled, but it was as though his wrists had been locked in an iron manacle. The sudden motion made the muscles in his upper arms flare in painful protest, and a cry escaped him as he struggled against the hold.

“Remus please,” Harry's voice cracked in his desperation, “you won't be able to forgive yourself if you do this—” another short scream of pain escaped him, Remus moving his mouth to bite down on Harry's throat, not hard enough to break the skin, but definitely enough to bruise.

“ _Mine,_ ” he growled again, suckling on the expanse of flesh he held with his teeth, ensuring that it would bruise, muttering the word over and over against Harry's skin as he held him down firmly.

“Remus, please—” Harry cringed as his voice came out as little more than a terrified sob, and nowhere near as forceful as he wanted to sound. The werewolf ignored him, continuing in his rough marking of his human, utterly lost to his instincts.

“Stop, _stop!_ ” Harry wailed as he tugged at his wrists, but Remus held fast to them, completely ignorant to Harry's distress.

Remus used his free hand to tear through the front of Harry's robes as though they were made of tissue paper, and he trailed more painful love bites over his clavicle and down his chest. Harry cried out again as Remus shifted slightly, and in his haze of panic, Harry saw an opening. His leg muscles tensed, and he brought up his knee into Remus's groin, _hard._

Remus howled in pain, his hands releasing Harry at once to cup himself as his legs buckled and he fell to the floor.

Harry did not waste his moment of freedom. He bolted out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door.

Not looking back, he fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The restaurant in this chapter, Les Trois Chefs (The Three Chefs) is made up, just so I could go bananas with my food nerd knowhow. 
> 
> Glossary:  
> Amuse-gueule: A small appetizer served before a meal, usually courtesy of the chef. It's often served with aperitifs. (sometimes known as an Amuse-bouche)  
> Beurre blanc: French sauce made of reduced white wine vinegar, dry shallots, and butter. Sometimes known as white butter sauce in English.  
> Dacquoise: Like cake, but made of meringue.  
> Tartare: Seasoned raw red meat, can be venison, horse, beef, etc.


	12. Separate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn't have as much time as usual to edit this chapter, as my poor cat has been sick this week :( nothing life threatening and she's fine now, but it means I've been in and out of the vet's office and I've had my hands full with taking care of her. That said, I hope this chapter meets your expectations, despite the shortness compared to some of the other chapters posted so far. Thank you guys for continuing to support this story, you're all wonderful! <3

Chapter 12 – Separate

 

Harry was rather proud that he managed to keep himself from puking or splinching as he Apparated to Hogsmeade. His pride at this accomplishment lasted for barely thirty seconds before he bolted for roadside and lost the contents of his stomach into a snow-capped shrubbery.

He groaned, his mind a haze of painful flashbacks as he trembled violently with cold, sick, and shock. _How could Remus have done that?_ Every promise the man had ever made to him, shattered in an instant. The top of his head still ached where Remus had pulled at his hair, and his throat burned as he choked up bile, hot tears streaking his cheeks. Harry wasn't certain whether the tears were a knee-jerk reaction to the pain from his harsh vomiting, or from what had happened. His throat throbbed where he'd received Remus's painful 'love' bites; the mere memory of them made Harry tremble with misery.

When he finally lifted his head from the shrub, Harry tried valiantly to ignore the hissing whispers and stares that followed his every movement. With cold sweat dotting his forehead, he looked up and down the street, and let out a soft sigh of relief when he found the address of the building he was looking for. Still shaking slightly, he hurried across the road and slipped inside with a quick tap of his wand. Harry hurried to the top level, panting as heavily as though he'd run the whole distance instead of Apparating.

Harry knocked on the pine door and it opened immediately, Ron's smile fading at once as he took in what he was seeing. “Merlin's pants Harry, what the hell happened to you?” He stepped aside to let Harry in, his eyes wide. The sound of the door snapping shut behind him made Harry jump sharply, and he looked up to Ron, momentarily having no idea how to begin, and instead stood there, staring blankly at the redhead while he clutched at his chest and struggled to get a handle on his breathing.

“Remus,” Harry said at last, grimacing at how raspy his voice was. Ron shifted as though he wanted to grip Harry's shoulder consolingly. He flinched, casting Ron an apologetic look, “I—sorry, I'm still a little freaked out.” Ron's outstretched hand curled into a fist, and he let it fall to his side, where it swung stiffly. His eyes were narrowed slightly in anger, but he still managed to exude a mask of calm, for which Harry was grateful. He was still in a state of shock over what had happened, and any more strong emotions right now would be more than he could handle.

“C'mon, I'll get you a cup of tea and you can tell me what happened,” Ron motioned inside and Harry followed him in, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame. He took the moment to have a look around the tiny flat, significantly smaller than Grimmauld Place, but still quaint and cozy. A pair of mismatched armchairs and a moth-eaten sofa faced a fireplace with a wizarding wireless on the mantle, with Pigwidgeon twittering madly in his cage, hanging from a hook near the window. An open-concept dining room and kitchen with a breakfast bar took up the right side of the space, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and a carved wooden rack of spices on the wall. Several bookcases took up one entire sitting room wall, filled beyond capacity with Hermione's growing library.

A familiar bandy-legged cat trotted up to him and wove through his legs as Harry followed Ron, Crookshanks's sudden movement nearly making him fall. Thankfully, he managed to keep his feet as he led Harry into the tiny kitchen. He was unsettled by how quiet Ron was being, and he was fairly certain he would be subject to a Hermione-inspired lecture when the time came. For the first time in recent history, Harry wasn't thrilled by how much she influenced him.

Harry pulled himself into a seat along the breakfast bar while Ron placed a kettle on the cooker, tapped it and at once and steam burst from the spout. After spiking Harry's tea with a generous measure of firewhisky, he pushed the drink into his hands. “Talk.”

Harry had no idea how to start. He looked from the cup back to Ron, certain he looked absolutely awful after what had happened. This was the lastconversation he ever expected to have with _Ron_ of all people, and he was at a loss for what to say. Ron didn't say a word, and merely watched him expectantly, waiting for Harry to speak.

“Remus, er, found something,” Harry said at last, unable to meet Ron's eyes. “Where's Hermione?” He asked, really not keen to discuss the incident. He frowned at Harry.

“She's still at work, she won't be home for another hour. You're deflecting, Harry. Spit it out. _What happened?_ ” Ron had taken on his _Auror_ voice, the one Harry had heard him use countless times in interrogations. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to get out of not explaining himself, Harry took a steadying breath, and looked up to meet Ron's worried gaze.

“Remus found the ring I had meant to give to Ginny,” Harry looked away when he saw Ron's eyes widen in surprise. “I sent back all of her things to The Burrow when this whole thing with Remus started, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of that stupid ring.” Harry frowned, and took a large gulp of tea. “After a while, I sort of...well, forgot about it,” Harry shrugged, looking around the kitchen while he reached down to pet Crookshanks with the tips of his fingers.

“I guess he went looking for something,” Harry continued, still unable to meet Ron's gaze and instead refocused his gaze on his knees. “He's not one to snoop, and...he found it.” Harry heaved a sigh, and stared into his mug.

“He went ballistic, and it didn't help that I went out for lunch with Hermione, and he could smell her on me. He got all possessive, way worse than I've ever seen him and he went after me...” Harry trailed off, his face heating in embarrassment and shame while a tremor ran through him. He _couldn't_ say it. _How could Remus do such a thing?_ Harry felt his heart lurch at the betrayal, and shivered as he felt the telltale burning behind his eyes. Taking another shuddering breath he pressed forward, “I just sort of...kicked him in the jewels and took off.”

Harry looked up at last, feeling an ache in his heart he couldn't completely identify. In spite of what had happened, he still felt a terrible longing to turn tail and run back to Remus. Harry shook himself in an effort to dispel the urge. After what Remus had done, there was no sane reason to return to him.

“Went after you like...he tried to rape you?” Ron's ears went very pink and Harry shifted his gaze back to his knees and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm down. The word _rape_ seemed to echo inside his head, and the mere sound of it made him feel sick to his stomach. Had Remus _really_ tried to rape him? It had been just a rough werewolf thing, surely? Harry had no idea what to think.

“I dunno if he'd go that far, but...” Harry huffed a sigh of frustration, and raked a hand through his hair. “It's the fucking moon. It makes him extra crazy, and he just happened to find the damn thing the day before. If I wasn't such a sentimental git and I just got rid of it this never would've happened.” Another wave of misery crashed over him, and Harry struggled to keep it behind a neutral mask. He wanted Ron and Hermione's support, yes, but he didn't want them to worry needlessly if he fell apart.

“Listen to me Harry,” Ron's voice was so forceful that Harry glanced up in surprise. “This is _not_ your fault. Remus is the one who did this, not you. Don't you dare blame yourself. I don't give a rat's fart if it's the full moon, or the blue moon, or the bloody harvest moon. He had _no_ right to do that to you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Harry,” Ron gave him a hard look, and Harry frowned, looking away from him to the bandy-legged cat that was sitting at his feet. He knew it would be difficult to explain to them how it wasn't completely Remus's fault. While Harry was terrified of seeing the werewolf again, at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to curl up with Remus and pretend this whole mess had never happened. The contradictory emotions made his head spin, and he drank more of his tea, hoping it would help calm him. One thing Harry knew for certain was that he couldn't face Remus, not yet. He looked up and caught Ron's worried eyes with his own.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Harry asked weakly, pushing aside his desire to run home as best he could. He winced at the feeble tone, but Ron seemed to understand that he was too emotionally shattered to even attempt a brave front at the moment.

“Yeah, course,” Ron smiled a little, “have you thought about what you're gonna tell Hermione when she gets here? It'll be a bloody miracle if she doesn't go straight to Grimmauld Place and murder Remus over this, you know. Mind you, he'd deserve it.” Harry frowned a little at Ron's comment, but eased back on the chair as he thought it over.

“Hell if I know,” He said at last, staring down into the half-empty mug. “She's already had a talk with me about how she felt about Remus's actions on Sunday, and I don't want her to overreact about this.” Ron's lack of response to Harry's reference to Sunday was unnerving, and instead his friend pushed forward with the more immediate problem at hand.

“And how would you define overreact?” Harry kept his gaze down, trying valiantly to ignore the way he saw Ron's brow knit with concern in his peripheral vision. Though he loved and trusted his friends implicitly, at the same time he knew that they couldn't completely understand the bond he shared with Remus. Fleetingly, he wondered if trying to explain the bond was worth it, or if they would just dismiss it and just blame Remus completely for what happened. It was more complicated than that, and Harry could see that Ron was stuck in a black and white state of mind from what he had told him.

“Anything that involves her confronting Remus, I suppose,” Harry drained the last of his tea, and Ron poured a healthy measure of straight firewhisky into the empty mug, and he nodded his thanks. “He'll be better after the full moon, and then we'll be able to discuss this whole thing more civilly.” To his surprise, this explanation did little to placate Ron, and instead his frown deepened.

“Harry, d'you know what you sound like?” Harry blinked in confusion at the question, and when he didn't immediately answer, Ron pressed on. “You sound like one of those people who have been abused by their spouses: _It's not their fault, they didn't mean it, it was an accident..._ Remus knew _exactly_ what he was doing, Harry. How d'you know it won't happen again?”

Harry frowned, and he could feel his gut twist with a mixture of guilt and panic. He avoided Ron's eye, his words and reaction so vastly matured compared to their time at school, even after all this time it was still surprising to hear. “The bond isn't fully settled yet. Once it is, stuff like this won't happen.” Harry chanced a glance up, but Ron appeared unconvinced. His expression softened slightly, and he stood with a frustrated sigh.

“C'mon, let's get you cleaned up before Hermione gets home.” Harry felt uneasy by how doubtful Ron sounded, but nodded gratefully and stood to follow him.

  

An hour and a half later, Harry's torn robes had been mended, though no matter what Ron did, the angry red and purple marks on Harry's chest and throat refused to fade. Ron tried a number of spells his mother had taught him, as well as essence of Dittany and most of the healing potions in their bathroom cabinet, but nothing seemed to work.

“Damn, I'm sorry mate,” Ron grumbled, flopping down onto the closed toilet seat with a huff and glared at Harry's throat, “I dunno why, but they won't go away.”

Privately, Harry wondered if it had to do with magic of the bond, refusing to let the wounds heal by extraordinary measures, but he had a feeling voicing the suspicion might be a bad move. Ron hadn't been exactly pleased with Remus since Harry had confided in him what happened, and he felt that Ron would be more than happy to blame the magic of the bond keeping the wounds from being healed on Remus as well.

“It's okay,” Harry muttered, turning from Ron to look in the bathroom mirror, and he prodded the marks with a wince. “They'll heal on their own in a couple of days, anyway.” Suddenly, a commotion out in the main area of the flat made Harry jump, the noise closely followed by Crookshanks's excited miaows.

“Ron, you home?” Hermione called, and Harry exchanged a nervous look with Ron. He nodded encouragingly, and with a defeated sigh he stood and trudged into the front hall, and Hermione's eyes lit up when she saw him. “Harry! It's so good to see you! What're you—” Her gaze fell to the marks on his throat, and her face fell, her eyes widening with panic. “Oh, God. Harry, what happened?”

Over more tea and with Ron's uncalled-for digs at Remus, Harry told Hermione what happened. She reacted exactly how Harry expected, so predictably in fact, that had the situation been less serious, it would have been almost funny.

“Harry,” she said, her voice laced with concern, “I _really_ don't like this. I mean, I read all that stuff about this claim and everything but I never—” she cut herself off with an angry hiss. “Harry, we _need_ to figure out a way to break this bond, this can't go on, it's not healthy.” At the prospect of the bond being broken, Harry felt panic lance through him.

“No, Hermione, it's not...” Harry trailed off and looked out the window overlooking the high street. He felt that agonizing pull again, and he curled his hands into fists. He couldn't bring himself to admit how much he both missed and feared Remus so deeply in that moment—he knew both of his friends wouldn't understand, and Harry had a feeling trying to explain it would make things worse, not better.

“He didn't mean it,” Harry said at last, slightly unnerved by how soft his voice sounded, “I mean, not really. He just...lost control.” He grimaced at the lameness of the excuse, and tried to ignore the panic that continued to rush through him at the idea of breaking the bond. He couldn't let Hermione try doing that; he _wouldn't_. In spite of everything, Harry still desperately missed Remus, and hated that this whole thing had happened. No matter what his friends said, he knew that it wasn't completely Remus's fault.

“ _Lost control_?” Her voice had gone very high in her anger, and Harry winced at her tone. “Harry if you hadn't stopped him, he could have—”

“—no, Hermione, he wouldn't have. I _know_ he wouldn't have.” In truth, Harry wasn't sure if Remus truly would have been able to stop himself, but he wasn't about to give her free ammunition.

“But how do you _know_?” Hermione's voice was still very high. “Harry, this isn't healthy, and I don't like it. You need to find a way to break this off.” She lurched forward as though to embrace him, but his involuntary cringe stopped her short. So soon after the incident, Harry still wasn't ready for physical contact.

“I'm sorry,” he said, slightly embarrassed by how hoarse he sounded, “I just...I know him, Hermione. He wouldn't. I _know_ he wouldn't”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look; neither of his friends looked like they believed him. The silence stretched on between them; each at a loss for what to say. Harry cast a worried look out the window, where large, fluffy snowflakes had begun to float past the window.

“Well, I'll get started on dinner,” Ron said a little too brightly in an effort to break the awkward silence, but when neither Hermione nor Harry responded, he hastened to the kitchen without another word.

In spite of everything, Harry was relieved that Ron was the one doing the cooking. He and Ron had learned early on that Hermione was absolute rubbish at exactly two things: Divination and cooking. After being nearly poisoned more than once by her 'experiments', Ron had taken it upon himself to learn a thing or two from his mother, and as it turned out he wasn't completely awful at it.

Over plates of pasta, Hermione had tried multiple times to engage Harry in conversation, for the moment steering clear of the hippogriff elephant in the room. Harry gave her short answers, though he did his best to keep his tone even. He was exhausted, and definitely not in the mood to talk.

After dinner Hermione showed him to the guest room. “It's not completely set up yet,” she said apologetically, the tiny, drab room held a bed and dresser and not much else. “But Ron'll lend you a pair of pyjamas or something and I think I've got a spare toothbrush somewhere—” Harry smiled a little, letting her ramble, knowing that she probably felt as distressed about this whole situation as he did.

“It's fine, Hermione,” he said at last, offering her a small smile. “I really appreciate it,” she offered him a watery smile and lurched as though she was going to hug him, but seemed to think better of it at the last minute.

It took Harry a very long time to fall asleep that night. Stripped down to his Y-fronts, he tossed and turned while he tried valiantly to ignore the nauseating sounds of his two best friends going at it rather enthusiastically from the other room, the use of a silencing charm apparently forgotten. Coupled with the near-constant ache for Remus that had settled in the pit of his stomach, it made for a miserable night. Harry groaned, slammed a pillow over his ears, and clamped his eyes shut.

  

~*~

  

Harry spent the following day in Ron and Hermione's flat with just Crookshanks for company, and that evening he watched the full moon rise, overwhelmed with guilt. He stared up at the natural satellite, and the pull to return to Remus was stronger than ever. He hadn't even tried to contact Harry, and it had become a struggle to ignore his ever-growing desire to run back to him.

 

Harry pressed his cheek against the cold glass, and heaved a morose sigh. _I hope Remus is okay..._ the thought passed through his mind for what felt like the fifteenth time that day, and while on some level he knew that his desire to forgive and forget so quickly was _not_ healthy, his longing to see Remus was stronger than his common sense at the moment. As a result, he found that he cared little for how screwed up his mental state was; he just wanted Remus back.

“Harry?” Harry looked up and saw Hermione hovering in the entryway of the sitting room, watching him nervously. “Er, Ron made dinner, would you like to join us?”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry stood and followed her out to their little kitchen table. He wasn't very hungry, but he knew that sitting around and moping would only make his friends worry more. Harry forced back his worries and tried to act like himself, but he wasn't very successful in banishing the werewolf from his mind.

 

Harry stayed in Ron and Hermione's guest room until Sunday morning, two days after the full moon. In that time, both his friends had struggled to convince Harry to help them try and figure out a way to break the bond, but he wasn't having it. No matter what happened, he found that he still cared deeply for Remus—more than he ever thought he would.

After a quick breakfast, Harry stood and stretched, and braced himself for an argument. “Well, I better get going,” Harry had tried for casual, but he could not completely banish the quiver from his voice.

“Go where?” Hermione narrowed her eyes a little, and Harry swallowed thickly, regarding her nervously.

“Home. I don't fancy wearing the same robes three days in a row.” His mouth twitched into a crooked smile, which faded almost at once when Hermione scowled at him.

“You know full well you can charm your robes clean, so that's no excuse. You shouldn't be going anywhere near...” Ron nudged her none-too-subtly, and she whirled around, making the redhead jump a little. “You can't _possibly_ approve of Harry going back to him! It's dangerous, and I don't like how this bond is affecting either of them!”

“Hermione it's not our place to make decisions like that for Harry, he's an adult—”

“We can if he's being too thick to recognize that he's pulling one of his stupid self-sacrificing stunts again just to spare Remus! He doesn't deserve it, not after what he did!” Ron opened his mouth to argue, and Harry took the distraction her argument with Ron provided to sneak out their door and head down to the high street.

Outside, the crisp air was incredibly refreshing after such a long period indoors, and as Harry made a move to step down the street he froze. Standing not twenty feet from Ron and Hermione's front door was Remus.

The sight of him both excited and terrified Harry in equal measure. His mind was awash with memories of what the older man had done, but even so, his first instinct was still to run to him. Remus himself looked awful. His head was bowed slightly and he looked miserable, guilty, ashamed. His face was lined with fresh claw marks that were slowly healing, and he could see more such injuries peeking out from under the collar of his robes.

Harry had barely taken a handful of steps forward before he heard Hermione's indignant shriek cut through the morning air. “Harry James Potter you come back here this instant!”

He whirled around and saw Hermione, red-faced and furious, closely followed by a stony-faced Ron. Her eyes found Remus at once, and she stormed over to him. “Hermione, don't!” Harry made a move to intercept her, but Ron grabbed him quickly, pinning his arms behind his back. Remus's gaze shifted to Ron, and his lip curled in a soundless growl.

“Ron, let me go!” He tugged at the hold, but Ron ignored the request.

“Sorry mate,” Ron said without emotion, though Harry was certain there was an apologetic edge to the tone. “This is for your own good.”

Somehow, Harry doubted that, as things in the past that were done ' _for his own good_ ' usually wound up with him being miserable or getting people killed. He tugged feebly at the hold Ron had on him, and a soft whine escaped him before he could stop it. Remus's eyes flitted to Harry at once when he'd made the sound, his eyes wide with his own anguish, so focused on Harry that he almost didn't notice Hermione storming towards him.

“Please Ron,” Harry's voice shifted from demanding to pleading, his stomach knotting as he watched Hermione all but run at Remus in her fury “don't let her hurt him.” Harry tugged at the hold again, and winced when Ron tightened his hold and didn't answer his plea.

Harry watched miserably as Hermione stopped just short of Remus, her entire body trembling with rage. He could hear her speaking, but he couldn't catch the words from the distance between them. Harry jerked again at the hold, but Ron squeezed his arms again, and he hissed in pain. Remus's gaze flicked up to Ron and his eyes narrowed, but at that same moment Harry saw Hermione's hand dive into the pocket of her robes.

“Remus! _Look out!”_ Too late—Hermione withdrew some sort of small object and threw it at the werewolf. It wasn't her wand, and from Harry's vantage point he thought it looked like some sort of braided leather charm. It hit Remus squarely in the chest, and he had only a moment to stare at Harry in shock and horror before it glowed blue, and he disappeared with a sharp _crack._

Ron released Harry and he fell forward, the cobblestones of the street biting sharply into his knees and the heels of his palms. He jumped to his feet and stormed over to Hermione. “What the _hell_ did you do that for?!” He shoved her sharply, seeing red and uncaring that more than a few early morning shoppers had slowed down to listen in on them. Hermione staggered back a little from the strength of Harry's shove, but the angry glare never left her face.

“I did it for _you,_ Harry,” she snapped, “this bond is _not_ healthy, and I won't let you go running back to your rapist because of some twisted sense of loyalty you have for him!”

“He did _not_ rape me, Hermione!” Harry seethed, taking a threatening step forward, but Hermione held her ground. “It was a werewolf thing. You've done more research on this than anyone else, you _know_ that. He wasn't completely in control, but you just find it easier to blame Remus than actually consider that there are other factors than just—” Harry's raving was cut short when Hermione whipped out her wand, pointed it at him, and murmured a spell.

“ _Stupefy._ ”

  

~*~

  

The first thing Harry was aware of was a deep throb in his temple. He opened his eyes and sat up with a soft groan, realizing at once that he was back in Ron and Hermione's guest room. He plucked his glasses off the nightstand where they'd been left, and the room came into focus. Beyond the door he could hear the soft thrum of his so-called friends' voices.

He glared at the door, infuriated with them—Hermione in particular. After everything she'd done to help him with this bond, how could she possibly turn on him now? It made no sense. The spell she'd performed on Remus chilled him to the bone, and Harry hoped that he was okay.

After sitting in the centre of the bed for a long time feeling at a loss for what to do, he stood slowly and headed for the door. After checking it for charms that would alert the pair to his waking, he slumped down on the floor and opened the door a crack to listen in.

“...not Harry's fault. I'm not even sure it's totally Remus's fault.”

“I know that, but it doesn't take away from the fact that Remus tried to _rape_ him.” Hermione sounded as incensed as ever, the sound making Harry grit his teeth and struggle to keep quiet while he listened in.

“But I don't think keeping them apart like this is a great idea, either. I mean, I didn't see Remus last time, but from what you and Ginny told me, the bond will seriously mess him up. It looks like it's having some sort of effect on Harry, too.” Harry frowned when he heard Hermione scoff.

“That's _not_ the bond, Ronald. That's just Harry's stupid saving people thing. He doesn't want Remus to suffer, so he's going running back to him like nothing ever happened. Well, I won't have it. I _won't_ let him put himself in danger again just to spare someone else's pain. Someone, might I add, who doesn't deserve it, not after what he did.”

“We can't keep him locked up here like a prisoner, Hermione! You yourself told us that not a lot is known about the finer details of this kind of bond, so how are you so certain that it really _is_ just Harry being a git, and not the bond?”

Silence.

Harry was amazed for a moment that Ron had managed to stun Hermione into silence, but the shock was short-lived as she piped up again. “I just...I know it, Ronald!” She paused, and Harry heard her voice calm down and sound somewhat defeated. “We'll figure out what to do about Harry tomorrow. Come on, let's go to bed. I just want to make sure Harry's okay before, though.”

The shuffling of the pair of them coming down the hall gave Harry about two seconds' warning before he silently shut the door, took off his glasses and rearranged himself on the bed roughly how he'd lain when he'd woken. He listened to the soft _creak_ of the door partially opening, then shutting a moment later. Harry kept an ear on the soft murmurs of Ron and Hermione continuing to bicker down the hall until their voices faded into silence.

As the flat became still, Harry opened his eyes and made a grab for his glasses again. Walking as silently as he could towards the door. He was intent on sneaking out and going to find out what Hermione had done to Remus, but he stopped short when he felt some sort of invisible barrier surrounding the door, barring him from coming into contact with it. He recognized it at once as Hermione's attempt at keeping him from sneaking off, and he whipped out his wand, muttering a string of incantations under his breath. With one hand pressed to the ward, the other trying a number of counter-charms, but the wards refused to budge. On his fifth attempt, he heard a soft hissing, followed by a crackle like wood in a fireplace, and with an audible yelp he was thrown across the room, landing softly on the centre of the bed.

Harry dropped his wand at his side and stared at the door. He raked his hands through his hair, shaking with anger, misery, and betrayal. What was he going to do?


	13. Scar Tissue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The past week has not been fun for this writer over here ;_; (or his cat...poor baby.). The next few chapters were subjected to a massive overhaul because I looked at them and went: “well, this makes absolutely no sense...” and the next three chapters in particular that are going up had to be completely redone from scratch. Tl;dr my brain hurts. I hope you guys enjoy this next instalment!
> 
>  
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> **Edited and reposted 16/08/2016. It was pointed out to me by some that elements of the assault recovery were highly unrealistic and I went back over everything and reworked it. I did my best, and if anyone still feels that I'm going about it the wrong way, feel free to comment on it. (I really do appreciate the concrit, it helps me become a better writer. Don't spare my feelings when it comes to this. If there's glaring errors, I'd much rather they be pointed out rather than ignored.)**

Chapter 13 – Scar Tissue

 

Harry was pretty sure that Hermione was channelling Vernon Dursley.

That was the only explanation he could come up with that might explain why she felt that it was 'for his own good' to lock him up in a small, windowless room for an extended period of time. The only social contact he had was Hermione's daily efforts to 'reason' with him from the other side of the door.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” she would say tearfully at the beginning of every lecture, “but you have to understand, I _had_ to do this. I can't let you near him, it's not safe—” At which point Harry tuned her out, furious, afraid, and almost sick with despair. The lecture would last maybe fifteen minutes before she would leave him alone until the next day.

At first, Harry had tried to reason with her.

“Hermione, this is mad,” he punctuated his cries with his fist pounding on the wall, “ _let me out!_ ” His heart had jumped into his throat every time he called out to her while his mind supplied a soundtrack of bad memories that the situation evoked. ' _Well, I've got news for you, boy...I'm locking you up...you're never going back to that school...never..._ ' Harry's breath hitched and his stomach lurched in panic-induced nausea, and he backed away from the wall and the sound of her tearful apologies and excuses that she _had_ to lock him up like an animal. _For his own good._

He couldn't understand how this had happened. Of all the people he expected to turn on him, Hermione was the last. Ron, to his credit, seemed to be on his side, though it was a small comfort, as up to now he was unable to make her see sense.

 

“C'mon Hermione,” Harry heard Ron say on the third day of his captivity, his voice muffled by the closed and warded door, “this has gone far enough; just let him out. This isn't fair to Harry!”

“ _No Ron!”_ Hermione snarled, so viciously that it made Harry jump in alarm. “Not until I've found a way to break this bond, this...this— _curse.”_ Harry gritted his teeth at her word choice, but he did not speak, afraid that if she knew he could overhear them so easily that she might add a silencing charm to the wards. As much as he loathed what she'd done, he was very afraid that he might actually go mad without any social stimulation.

 

After a fortnight of being locked in the room, Harry began to wonder if she might _actually_ keep him confined indefinitely. The only indicator to him of the passage of time was the food spelled into the room three times a day. He was never let out, but it was obvious Hermione had done _something_ to him, as in that time he never needed the toilet. She showed no sign of planning on letting him out any time soon, and Harry was privy to more than one shouting match between the couple because of this. Ron was still all but begging Hermione to free him, while Hermione point-blank refused to let Harry go anywhere until she found a 'cure' that would dissolve the bond.

At first, Harry had felt deeply betrayed by Ron, just as much as with Hermione. But as time passed, it was clear to him that his best mate was still on his side. Every night after Hermione went to bed, Harry could hear the familiar soft murmur of Ron's voice attempting to break her wards. So far, he'd been unsuccessful.

 

Christmas arrived, a fact Harry only knew as he'd overheard Hermione debate with Ron about whether it was a good idea to leave Harry alone for a few days or not. The debate would quickly dissolve into another shouting match, Ron trying to reason with Hermione's newfound madness, and Hermione point-blank refusing to budge. Harry pressed his ear against the wall and listened to the argument, shivering with panic and misery as he listened to Hermione's shrill tones—he almost didn't recognize the venom in her voice anymore.

In the end, the couple disappeared to the Burrow, leaving Harry completely on his own. The lack of aural stimulation quickly began to mess with his head; every soft groan of the building, the pitter-patter of Crookshanks racing up and down the hallway, the incessant twittering of Pig—it all sounded deafening to him. Harry clutched at his hair and rocked back and forth on the bed, struggling to reign in the panic that was always so close to the surface these days.

He shivered, feeling sickened with himself. _Oh, how the mighty have fallen..._ Harry thought, smiling bitterly into the crook of his arms. Who knew extended isolation was all that was needed to break _The Saviour of The Wizarding World_. He felt utterly pathetic.

 

Harry lay in silence for a long time, feeling no thrill of the festivities that Ron and Hermione were likely enjoying at that moment. _If I ever get out of here, I'm definitely telling Molly what they've done..._ he thought, the rancorous humour behind it buoying his spirits just enough to keep him from losing himself in his misery.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. A memory bubbled to the surface of his mind of a certain free house elf who had come to his aid the last time he'd found himself imprisoned. Would it perhaps work again? He sat up and stared uncertainly at the heavily warded door.

“Kreacher?”

 

_Crack._

 

“ _Damn it!_ ” Harry yelled, staring at the wall where the muffled sound of Kreacher's apparition had come from.

“Master called?” Kreacher croaked from the other side of the door. “Miss Hermione told Kreacher you is staying with them for the Season, but then why is you warded so strongly in one room?” Harry snorted at the feeble excuse Hermione had offered the elf.

“Yeah, Kreacher, Hermione may have stretched the truth a bit. Listen, can you break the wards? I need you to get me out of here.” Harry strained his ears, and for a long time Kreacher was silent.

“Kreacher will try,” he said at last, and Harry felt his entire body sag with relief. “The wards Miss Hermione have put in place are very strong, but Kreacher will try.”

Harry listened to the low murmur of Kreacher working at the wards around the door, keeping quiet as he waited to see if Elf Magic was as powerful as he thought it was. By Harry's count, it took a good thirty minutes before he heard soft _click_ of the door unlocking. The door swung open and for a moment Harry could only stare, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

Harry stepped out into the hall on shaking limbs, breathing the free air for the first time in over two weeks. He was so busy looking around that for a moment he forgot about the elf that stood next to him, waiting quietly for further instruction.

“Thanks Kreacher,” he said at last, turning to smile at the elf. He bowed low, and when he'd righted himself Harry drew his wand and cast a few quick cleaning spells on himself. He felt grimy and greasy, but he didn't dare take the time to properly shower before going home—what if they came back?

 _Home._ Harry felt almost giddy at the prospect. At the same time however, he felt a thrill of fear. This would be the first proper time he would be seeing Remus since the incident, and he had no idea what to expect.

“How has Remus been?” Harry asked conversationally, and Kreacher apparently oblivious to the nervousness that laced his tone.

“The werewolf feels deeply ashamed for what he has done,” Kreacher spoke in a monotone, not voicing his opinion on the matter one way or the other—for a change. “He tries to make amends, but Miss Hermione will not let him near this place. He tells Kreacher of a strange Portkey she uses to banish him to far-off places, but still he keeps trying to return. The werewolf pines for Master Harry greatly.”

Harry didn't doubt it and smiled warmly, not missing how Kreacher had omitted a certain adjective from his response.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were staring to like him,” the comment earned him a noncommittal grunt, and Harry smiled as he turned to the front door. “C'mon, let's get me out of here.”

“Of course, Master.”

  

~*~

 

Kreacher brought Harry to the front step of Grimmauld Place, and he was grateful that the elf had the forethought to bring him there, instead of directly inside. It gave Harry a moment to breathe and brace himself to see Remus. Though he had spent the better part of the last fortnight longing to see the older man, now that he was about to, memories of the incident flashed through Harry's mind in quick succession. It took Harry a great deal of effort to keep himself from hyperventilating.

Harry took a deep breath in an effort to calm down, and curled his fingers around his wand tightly. He tapped on the door sharply and it slowly creaked open. With his heart pounding in his ears, Harry crossed the threshold and stepped into the front hall.

Despite his fear at seeing Remus again, Harry had to admit that it was good to be home. The familiar sights and smells made Harry relax at once, and as he moved further inside he froze, his eyes finding Remus, who had stepped uncertainly into the hall to see who it was. His movements stilled just as Harry's had, and for a long moment neither man spoke, and merely drank in the sight of the other. It was Remus who broke the silence first.

“Harry, I—”

 

_Whap!_

 

Remus's words were cut short as Harry stormed forward and punched him, _hard._ His head jerked sharply to the side and he stumbled back a few paces with a cry of surprise and pain. Remus's hand clamped down over his cheekbone, his eyes wide. Breathing hard, Harry stared the werewolf down. The sound of the older man's voice had sparked an anger in him that completely eclipsed the fear he had felt mere moments before.

“That was a really shitty thing you did, Remus. You lost control quite spectacularly _twice_ leading up to the last full moon, and one of those times you nearly did something you would seriously regret, had I not stopped you. _Explain yourself._ ” Harry spoke with an even tone of voice, his knuckles throbbing painfully. It surprised Harry that punching someone with a closed fist could hurt so much. He refused to let this pain show on his face while he stared down his partner.

Harry's gaze focused solely on the werewolf, who was unable to meet his eye. Remus stared at his shoes while he opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling to find the right words. “I—the moon this time, it was more intense, and it was difficult to control myself when it came to my desires for you.”

Harry was rather proud of the fact that he did not blush at that, but kept his expression neutral as Remus continued, his hand still cupping his reddening cheek. “My guess is that with us moving forward intimately, my desires for you increased in a way that made it more difficult to control myself this past moon, as you saw.”

“That still doesn't excuse what you did, Remus.”

“I know,” he said quickly, “there is no excuse for what I did to you, none at all. I am very grateful that you stopped me before I did something unforgivable.” He paused, looking very much like an abused puppy in that moment. It both pleased and hurt Harry to see it. _Stupid bond, I just want to be cross with him for a little longer. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven, not so soon._ Harry shook himself from his thoughts as Remus spoke again.

“However, I'd like to make it up to you, if you'll let me.” Remus took a small step forward, but Harry reacted instinctively, and took a quick step backward. The older man's face fell a little, and Harry refused to allow himself to react to it. He could not deny that he still very much _wanted_ to be with Remus, but Harry no longer knew if he actually _could._ Was their relationship even salvageable after what had happened between them?

After a long moment of awkward silence, Harry took a nervous step forward. Remus reached for him slowly, ensuring that Harry could catch every movement, and move away if he wanted to. Harry felt slightly sick with panic, his courage failing as Remus got too close, and he jumped back. The werewolf froze, and did not approach him further.

 

“This is so fucked up,” Harry winced as his voice cracked, and took several steps away from the older man while he struggled to calm down. “I just... This _thing_ happened, then the thing with Ron and Hermione basically kidnapping me and now...” He took a great shuddering breath, the world warping as his eyes glazed over with tears. “ _Fuck_.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes and at the same moment heard the soft shuffle of Remus taking an uncertain step forward.

“Don't,” Harry lifted a hand, and once more Remus froze.

Harry looked up at last, and stared at the man he once trusted so completely. He felt dizzy with misery, wishing so desperately—not for the first time—that this had never happened. The bond meant that they were stuck, and separating would not only hurt them, but remembering what happened the _last_ time he'd tried hiding from Remus, it could become dangerous, too.

“I want to fix things,” Harry said at last, his voice hoarse and shaky, “but I don't know how much of that is the bond, encouraging me to do so, and how much is _me-_ me.”

“The compulsion is likely from the bond,” Remus looked away as he spoke, Harry not missing the deep look of shame in the older man's eyes. “Whatever you want, Harry... _anything_ that will make you feel more at ease. I will do it.” Harry crossed his arms, and regarded the werewolf with a small frown.

“You scared me, Remus,” Harry began, looking away from him as he attempted to sort through his mess of emotions. “You held me down, and you hurt me,” Harry's voice trembled, and he paused to take several deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.

“I want us to go back how we were,” he continued, still not meeting Remus's gaze that he could feel boring into him. “But right now the idea of being physically close with you is not something I'd be comfortable with,” Harry was rather pleased with himself for maintaining something close to a sense of calm, despite the fact that he felt as though he'd been split down the middle—half of him longing to throw himself at Remus, the other longing to turn, run, and never look back.

Harry looked back up at Remus, who had a tortured look in his eyes, and the look alone told Harry how deeply the man regretted his actions. He was silent for a long time, looking at Harry as though they were separated by a thick stone wall.

“I will do everything in my power to regain your trust,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

Remus sincerity brought a lump to Harry's throat. Momentarily losing his ability to speak, he nodded.

  

~*~

 

In the sitting room, Harry was in his usual seat on the sofa, while Remus sat at the opposite end. Harry felt again that mixture of prickling fear and longing for closeness churn in his stomach as he looked at the man. In spite of Harry's near-constant longing to see him over the last weeks, he couldn't completely stifle his nervousness at the Remus's close proximity, especially considering what had happened the _last_ time they'd been physically 'close'.

A plate of biscuits and Kreacher's favourite horrid floral teapot materialized on the coffee table in front of them, effectively breaking through some of the tense atmosphere. Harry immediately reached for a chocolate-covered digestive and crammed it into his mouth. The action reminded him painfully of Ron, and he still felt completely at a loss for what he was going to do about that. However, Harry's primary concern was to discuss things with Remus, but he found that he had no idea how to begin.

“Perhaps we should go back to the beginning,” Remus said slowly, breaking the silence, and averting his gaze when Harry finally looked up at him. “It might be best for us to be separated from one another when the full moon is near until you are more at ease with me again.” He continued, keeping his eyes focused on his knees while he spoke. “I don't want this to ever happen again, Harry. What I did...” he shook his head, and a soft growl escaped him, “there's no excuse for it. I want you safe, and if that means depriving myself of your company for however long you need, I'm willing to do it. Whatever you feel will help.”

Harry frowned and looked over the angry red lines on his face and partially concealed at his throat by the collar of his cardigan. Even after so much time, the self-inflicted injuries from the last full moon had not fully healed. The punch he'd delivered to Remus wouldn't even bruise—Harry could already see the redness fading into nothing, Remus's accelerated werewolf healing powers seemed to be taking care of it, though Harry was uncertain why it wasn't doing the same for those painful-looking scratches.

“I want things to go back how they were,” Harry said at last, for the moment dismissing his questions about Remus's current physical state. He looked down to his sticky chocolate fingers, and grabbed a napkin to mop up the melted chocolate while he gathered his thoughts. “I don't know what that means, exactly. I know it wasn't really _you-_ you, but, at the same time...it was, you know?” Harry's voice died in his throat as he spoke, his last words barely above a whisper.

Remus shifted, and Harry felt his breath catch as the older man moved towards him, stopping just short of physically touching him. Trapped between the back of the sofa and its armrest, Harry pressed himself back into the upholstery and looked up at the older man with wide eyes.

“Tell me what you're feeling right now,” Remus said softly, his neutral mask giving away nothing of his personal feelings. Harry suspected this was Remus's attempt at keeping him calm, but in reality it made Harry more anxious, not less.

It took a moment for Harry's mind to register that he'd been asked a question. He lifted his eyes to meet the familiar, honeyed gaze he'd grown so attached to over the last few months. Harry felt suddenly short of breath, as though a hand had suddenly wrapped around his throat. _Hot breath, Remus's voice cutting in a terrifying, possessive rage, sharp pain in the form of love bites..._

“Scared,” Harry breathed the word, panting as though he'd just run a marathon. Remus reached forward slowly, and Harry flinched. At once, Remus froze his movements and shifted back to his original position. Ever so slowly, Harry felt his heart rate return to normal.

“I don't want you to force yourself on my account,” Remus murmured, his body quivering slightly as though he desperately wanted to touch Harry in some way. Harry hated how the idea made him sick with fear. “I don't deserve it, and you certainly don't deserve any _more_ stress than what I've already caused.” Remus stood and stepped out of the room without looking back, the tea left virtually untouched.

  

~*~

 

Harry woke the next morning in his own bed, sunlight pouring in the window, the door wide open, and an impatient-looking Strax perched on the bedpost.

The previous evening hadn't been pleasant for Harry. He spent an inordinate amount of time feeling uncertain of which he feared more—the claustrophobic panic he felt when the door was shut, or the fear that leaving his door open would be misinterpreted as an invitation to a certain werewolf currently taking up residence in the guest room. In the end, the claustrophobia won out, and Harry knocked back a vial of Dreamless Sleep to ensure that he'd _actually_ sleep.

 

“Morning,” he said to the owl, who hooted in return, extending his leg to show a letter tied there with the Ministry's crest stamped on it. Shaking off his sleep as best he could, he shuffled to the end of the bed and untied the letter, then reached for the bag of owl treats he usually kept on his bedside table. His fingers froze when he saw The Velvet Box still sitting there innocently. Knowing he'd probably regret it, he cast a quick Perception Shift Charm on it and stuffed it back into the drawer, vowing to properly deal with it later.

After placating the owl with a couple of treats Strax took off, likely in search of a proper breakfast from Kreacher. Not entirely ready to get up yet, Harry shifted back into his cocoon of blankets while he slit open the envelope. Brow knitted with curiosity, he unfolded the letter, and the first thing he noticed was it was dated from a week previously.

 

_Potter—_

 

_I was told that you were indisposed by Weasley, but given that I have not heard from you in over a week, I must admit, I am concerned. Please reply promptly to this to let me know that you are not dead._

 

_Auror M. Caldwell._

 

Harry smiled a little, flattered that she was worried about him, verbalizing it much in the same way McGonagall probably would have. After summoning some parchment, a self-inking quill, and a heavy book to write on, he found himself at a loss for what to say. He was torn between instinctive loyalty to his friends and the need to bring their shocking betrayal out into the open. Neither option felt right, and he had no idea what to do.

“Harry?”

Harry's head snapped up at the sudden sound of Remus's voice, and found him standing uncertainly in the door frame holding a tray of food, and wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms. Harry kept his eyes focused on the werewolf's face while he waited for him to speak. The red marks he'd inflicted on himself at the last moon were prominently displayed, and looking directly at them made Harry queasy with guilt. He knew that his absence at the last moon were the cause of those marks, but he felt no karmic joy at the sight of them.

“I thought you might be hungry...May I come in?” He was rocking a little on his feet with clear nervousness, but standing there with a tray of food, bathed in morning light.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry said at last, and Remus hesitated for a moment longer before he stepped inside and offered the tray to Harry. He accepted it with a small smile, while Remus summoned his desk chair over to the bedside with a casual flick of his wand and sat down next to him, still careful to give Harry enough space, for which he was grateful.

Spearing a fried tomato with his fork, he stared at it for a long moment before shoving it in his mouth. Using the Weasley technique to eat seemed easier than trying to talk to Remus, who was watching him eat quietly.

“Caldwell wants to know where I've been,” Harry said conversationally after few minutes of silence, sipping his coffee while he stared down at the letter he'd set aside while he ate. “Seems she didn't entirely believe Ron when he told her I was _indisposed_.” Harry couldn't help sneering the word, his fingers tensing around the cup. “He and Hermione deserve to be arrested for basically kidnapping me but...they're still my friends.” He frowned, looking up toward the window while he thought it over.

“Harry,” Remus said, snapping Harry out of his daze, “I've known those two almost as long as you have, though admittedly not as well. Are you quite certain that no outside forces were influencing them?” The suggestion made Harry's eyes widen in surprise—that was something that had honestly not occurred to him. Remus continued before Harry had a chance to speak.

“I find it incredibly hard to believe that those two would do anything to endanger you, and this...something about it seems _off_ to me. It would seem that your supervisor agrees with that sentiment, at least on some level.” Remus looked thoughtful as he spoke, the forefinger and thumb of his left hand brushing his unshaven chin.

Harry picked at his fried eggs, frowning as he thought it over. Part of him wished he could just fully blame Ron and Hermione for what they'd put him through then be shot of them. But, if he did that, wouldn't he be just as guilty as them when they blamed the whole incident on Remus? Harry liked to think that if they _had_ been under the influence of some potion or spell, he, as their closest friend, would have been able to see it. Harry's frown deepened; was he really so thick that he couldn't tell that they had been enchanted?

“Talk to your Supervisor,” Remus encouraged when Harry didn't answer. “You don't have to make any decisions right now, but it might help to rule out foul play.” He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and squeezed Harry's forearm gently, reassuringly. The contact caused Harry to flinch, and Remus let go quickly, looking apologetic. Without another word, he hastened from the room and didn't look back.

Harry watched him go, feeling again that mixture of guilt, longing, and misery all jumbled together in his mind. Things had been going so well, why did this have to happen? It wasn't _fair._ Struggling to dismiss his worries over things with Remus and the bond, at least for the moment, he pulled the blank parchment forward and began to write.

 

Harry sent off Strax with an abridged version of what had happened to Caldwell straightaway, but it was full week before he heard anything back. In that time, December gave way to January, and the new year brought with it miserable, heavy sleet that pounded the windows mercilessly.

Remus had been very careful to give Harry his space as time went on. Harry slept alone, Remus stayed in the guest room, and on the whole they acted more like housemates than partners. Harry had no trouble admitting that he missed the feeling of contact with another person, and more than once he'd been tempted to sneak into the guest room and crawl in bed with the werewolf. Harry knew he wasn't ready he was for such physical contact, but with each passing day, close proximity with Remus had begun to shift, much more quickly that Harry thought was probably healthy. With the next full moon quickly approaching however, Harry was awash with fresh nerves, terrified of a repeat of last month's catastrophe. As a result, he was reluctant to voice his confusion at these feelings, afraid that—like last time—Remus would start something and be unable to stop. The idea that it could happen again terrified Harry, and he had no idea what could be done to alleviate his fears.

 

Strax returned with Caldwell's answer sopping wet and irritable, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter from him, clearly not keen to go back out in such horrid weather. His mouth quirking into a small smile of amusement at the owl's attitude, he stretched out on the stone in front of the warm fire as he tore open the envelope. Remus was nearby in an armchair with his nose buried in a book. He looked up as Harry unfolded the letter, but he didn't say anything.

 

_Potter—_

 

_Granger and Weasley have been taken in for questioning. Both show signs of residual magic on them, at the moment we're not sure what exactly. On top of that, it seems that whoever or whatever did this to them wiped their memories, as both claim no knowledge of their attack on your partner, nor holding you captive._

_We intend to verify this with Veritaserum, however I wanted to ask if you would like to be present for the questioning. As I understand it, you three are rather close, and I can imagine this whole ordeal has not been easy for you. That said, I believe that_ if _they are as innocent as they claim, it will be easier for you to move past it and begin to mend your friendship if you can hear their testimony for yourself. You needn't be in the same room as them, we have an observation room you may stay in to watch our questioning safely._

_Think it over, I will not begrudge you if you decide to not witness their interrogation._

 

_Auror M. Caldwell_

 

“Good news?” Remus asked at last, and Harry looked up to see that he had set his book aside, and was watching him with a quiet, hopeful look.

“Sort of,” he handed the letter to him, his stomach somersaulting when their fingers lightly brushed together. Remus did not seem to react to the light contact as he took the sheet of parchment, his eyes darting back and forth as he read.

“Well, it points in a positive direction, certainly,” he said with a smile. He handed the letter back to Harry, who folded it up and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. “I believe the question now is who would go to so much trouble to try and hurt you by going through your friends in such a brutal way.”

“I've got no shortage of enemies, that's for sure,” Harry said as he sat up and pressed his back against the coffee table while he threaded his fingers together thoughtfully. Though it looked like his friends had been under the influence of _something_ that had been the cause of the entire ordeal, it was difficult for Harry to use that fact to summon any kind of forgiveness for them over what had happened—Hermione in particular. So much of what occurred seemed so very like them that Harry had a hard time believing that magic really was to blame. As for what enemy was likely to do such a thing, Harry came to the conclusion easily.

“As of right now, I'd say the most likely suspect is—” He began, but Remus cut him off before he could finish the statement.

“—Red Moon.” Harry smiled a little at Remus's interruption, pleased that their minds seemed to be on the same wavelength, at least in that respect.

“Yeah, but I haven't been exactly that present on the case over the last couple weeks, why would they single me out now?” Remus smiled a little in that infuriatingly familiar, knowing smile of someone who had noticed that Harry had, once again, missed an important point.

“Perhaps because, as much as you are loath to admit it, you are still Harry Potter,” Remus said, his smile widening when he saw a flush rise in Harry's cheeks. “Even after all this time, you are still a hero, a beacon of hope for many people.”

“Red Moon likely know of your... _affiliations_ with werewolves,” Remus continued, his mouth quirking into a small half-smile at the innuendo, though it vanished the moment he saw Harry's frown. “Your positive attitude towards my kind mean less people are likely to side with their campaign of hate. It's only natural that they would see you as something of a threat.”

Harry watched Remus while he spoke, feeling a humourless smile stretch across his face. He was right of course, but the words words weren't exactly comforting. If Red Moon really _were_ targeting Harry on top of every living werewolf in the country, how was he supposed to even begin to try and protect them?

Harry's gaze fell to the parchment poking out of his jeans pocket. The first thing he needed to confront was the betrayal of his friends. Pushing back his worries about what Red Moon might be up to, he tried to decide what he should do. He _wanted_ to do the thing properly, be an adult and face his problems head-on, but the idea of facing Ron and Hermione on his own filled him with a childlike terror.

Harry looked back up, filled with the same nervous fear that had plagued him ever since coming home. His stomach turned over with a sensation not unlike vertigo, and Remus watched him calmly, his eyes questioning him, though he didn't speak.

“I know it's not the safest time right now, but...d'you think we could find a way for you to come with me, to the interrogation, I mean?” Remus's eyes seemed to brighten, and Harry quickly added, “it's just...I mean, things are kind of...well, fucked up between us, but I—I...I _can't_ face them alone.” Harry felt his face burn with shame, while Remus smiled, a hopeful look in his eyes that Harry recognized at once, though he had no desire to comment on it.

“Anything you need, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'd just like to note here that I really struggled how to balance a genuine response to sexual assault and the magic of the bond pushing Harry to forgive Remus quickly. I'm not trying to be dismissive of the healing process from this kind of ordeal, and I hope it's come off as believable.


	14. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case anyone is confused by Harry's reactions to Remus in this chapter, I'd like to note that following the initial posting of chapter 13 on Aug. 15th, it was brought to my attention that Harry's reactions as an assault survivor weren't very realistic(thank you Zharah!). I went back over it and adjusted it so that it would make more sense, and I reposted the following day (Aug. 16th). You don't need to go back and reread the chapter if you think you missed this repost, as there's no major plot changes, just minor adjustments to Harry's character.
> 
> Also, my poor cat has hepatitis so I have been super busy with her, administering IV fluid, tube-feedings, antibiotics, and other fun stuff. That said, my time devoted to my fanfic stuff has been severely limited of late and I didn't have as much time as I usually do to edit. So if anyone sees any major errors, feel free to point them out to me.

Chapter 14 – Mind Games

 

Since arriving home, Remus continued to give Harry his space. He was plagued by nightmares, and Remus would instinctively hurry to Harry's side each time to wake him. Waking in a haze of panic, Harry would wrench himself from Remus's hold as though he'd been burned. After the third time Remus stopped waking him, and instead offered Harry Dreamless Sleep potion, which he accepted gladly.

Though Harry had asked Remus to accompany him to the interrogation, he still struggled to stand within two feet of the man without his fear bubbling to the surface. The moment he sensed Harry's fear, Remus would step back with a hasty apology.

“It's not your fault,” Harry mumbled every time this happened, and Remus would actually laugh, though it was always a hollow, bitter sound.

“Yes Harry, it is.”

 

It was as though the Fates seemed curious to see how much stress Harry Potter could handle before cracking up, and the next hurdle came to him in the form of January's full moon.

It was the polar opposite to the last moon Harry had experienced with Remus. The werewolf took every precaution in the days leading up to it to avoid Harry at all costs, except for mealtimes. At first, the fact that Harry hardly saw him struck him as a little odd, but when he went to investigate what Remus was up to, he did not even need to knock on the closed guest room door to figure it out—the haggard breathing was enough. Feeling suddenly queasy, he left Remus to it.

On an academic level, Harry completely understood _why_ Remus was acting like a post-pubescent teenager. However, it was still a unsettling to see—or rather, _hear—_ it for himself. Harry knew Remus was doing it to keep his sex drive in check until things between them improved, and while Harry appreciated it, it still made him uncomfortable.

Often, it almost felt as though Remus was watching him, waiting for him to feel at ease with physical contact again. It was stressful, and more than once Harry felt an urge to simply cry out, “ _I'm trying!_ ” Remus never seemed impatient though, and Harry wondered if perhaps it was his own mind trying to rush him forward, and not his partner. Remus never pushed or showed impatience with Harry, the anger he had witnessed the previous month was completely gone, and in its place was the same placid man Harry had always known. In fact, Remus did not engage Harry in much of anything, not even conversation.

It made Harry feel incredibly lonely, made worse that he had no one to talk to about what was going on. He had entertained the idea of contacting Ginny for advice more than once, but he felt it would be cruel to talk to her about it now, so soon after their breakup. This left Harry spending many afternoons in the library on his own, picking through the volumes he knew belonged to the Black Family Library collection. Strangely, Harry couldn't bring himself to even cast Remus's books a passing glance.

That particular afternoon, Harry decided on _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , his hand freezing on its spine as he remembered who had given him the book in the first place.

The memory of Hermione stung, and he once more felt that familiar swell of misery in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his friends. His trust betrayed on all sides, the last time he'd felt so alone was before he'd known he was a wizard—back with the Dursleys. It was a feeling he was no longer used to feeling, and he'd quite forgotten how awful that hollow ache truly was.

Harry pulled the book off its shelf and eased himself down into one of the available desk chairs. He flicked through the pages absentmindedly, none of the words sinking in, his mind invariably returning to Remus. He wished desperately that he could find a way to fix what he once had with the werewolf, but given the way things had been going, Harry had begun to doubt it.

He had only just settled in to try and read when he heard the soft creak of the warped floorboards, and he looked up to see Remus standing about ten feet away, watching him uncertainly. “Harry? Are you all right?”

It was the first words Remus had said to him in days, and Harry almost laughed at the ludicrous question. “How do you think I am, Remus?” His tone came out harsher than he had intended, and Remus winced as though he'd been struck.

“Sorry,” Harry raked his fingers through his hair and looked away from the older man to the rows upon rows of dusty shelves. “It's just been a stressful couple of weeks.” Harry snorted the moment the words had left his mouth. _Stressful_ was a bit of an understatement.

“You don't need to apologize Harry,” Remus said softly, lowering his gaze. Harry watched him, he looking like he was going to say something, but after several minutes of false starts and stuttering, he spun on his heel and left Harry alone and confused.

 

Harry did not see Remus again for the rest of the day, and he watched silently as the man headed upstairs at moonrise without a word.

From his place in the sitting room, Harry could hear the pained cries of Remus's transformation. He winced and dug his nails into the arm of the sofa, his knees drawn up to his chest. The compulsion to run to him was overwhelming, but Harry kept his place. A mournful howl sounded from above, and he looked up.

The sound made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end, and he listened to the soft _click-clack_ of Moony's claws against the wooden floorboards coupled with his high, distressed whines as the werewolf wandered through the halls, seeking Harry out.

Harry was shocked at how little the concept of Moony looking for him frightened him. After spending so much time of being terrified in his own home, the lack of fear in itself was alarming. Harry heard the werewolf progress down the hall and to the stairs.

The sound of the lupine footfalls paused momentarily, and Harry moved the half-full teacup he had been holding to the coffee table. The wolf descended the steps, and slowly the enormous, bear-like creature came into view, nose to the ground as he followed Harry's scent.

Moony paused at the entryway to the sitting room, lifting his head to look at Harry, his tail wagging lowly, nervously.

Harry had no idea what to expect when he came face to face with Moony, but unlike dealing with Remus in his human form, he felt none of the fear that he expected to feel. Buoyed by Harry's obvious lack of fear, the enormous creature loped forward slowly and butted his huge head against Harry's cheek. Moony's nose buried itself in the crook of Harry's neck, snuffling curiously, his tail lifting as he grew more bold, it continuing to wag lazily.

Content with Harry's scent, Moony licked his cheek, and Harry reached up at once to run his fingers through the thick fur with a small, crooked smile. Moony plopped down in front of Harry, mouth open in a wolfish smile, and Harry shifted forward and wrapped his arms around the werewolf's neck in a very human hug. It was the first physical contact he'd had since the incident, and he breathed in the familiar scent. For the first time in weeks, Harry felt a sensation of complete contentment wash over him, unhindered by any residual fear over what had happened.

“I wish I knew why I always feel so much more comfortable with you when you're like this,” Harry muttered into Moony's fur, pulling back to run his fingers through the grey and tawny hairs. The amber gaze bored into Harry inquisitively, his head cocked to the side slightly. In this form, Harry was still amazed that he felt none of the fear that he'd grown so accustomed to feeling whenever Remus was too near.

Harry sat with Moony for a long time, running his fingers through the werewolf's fur and not saying much of anything, his worries intensely focused on the interrogation he'd be witnessing in three days' time.

He'd witnessed a number of Death Eater interrogations and trials in the months following the war, but the fact that he'd be seeing his two best friends like that chilled Harry to the bone. He pressed his cheek into the werewolf shoulder, his fingers tangling in the fur while he stared into space and tried to picture it, but it was such an absurd concept that he found he was incapable of imagining it.

The night pressed on while Harry sat with Moony, stroking his fur continually and occasionally punctuating the silence with a few soft words or comments, though he steered away from serious topics as best he could. Harry didn't know how much human speech Remus could understand when he was in his wolf form, even with the wolfsbane potion. Either way, Moony sat next to him attentively, and nudged Harry's cheek with his nose whenever Harry began to panic at the thought of what was to come washed over him. Harry offered the wolf a small smile of reassurance, though he was sure Moony's heightened senses weren't fooled by the outward expression.

Harry's eyelids began to droop when the clock read midnight, he stifling frequent cavernous yawns as he sat there with the werewolf. Moony pressed his shoulder into Harry's side, with an insistent nudge towards the hall, the wordless hint blatantly obvious even in Harry's half-asleep daze.

Too tired to argue, Harry got up on unsteady legs and headed upstairs with Moony on his heels. He readied himself for bed and crawled under the duvet. The last thing he saw was an enormous, furry body sitting at his side, watching over him as he dropped off to sleep.

He never heard Moony leave, but when Harry woke the next morning, he was gone.

  

~*~

 

On the cusp of February, a cold snap fell over London.

The dry chill leaked into Number Twelve and tiny flecks of snow blew past the window. Harry found himself Monday afternoon bundled up in a thick jumper—for once not a Weasley jumper—with a hot cup of tea cradled in his hands. He sat as close to the fire as he dared, the duvet from his bed wrapped around his legs like a plush nest.

“So much for magical insulation...” he grumbled, sipping the tea while he stared at the crackling logs, the dry wood popping at random intervals like miniature fireworks.

“That looks cozy,” an amused voice commented, and Harry turned to see Remus watching him from behind the sofa, his arms crossed and mouth quirked into a small smile. Despite the ease in his posture, his eyes regarded Harry uncertainly. Remus seemed to have recovered from this month's transformation, though he was still a little pale. He appeared unaffected by the temperature of the house, and the safe, conversational words helped to ease part of the anxious knot that had formed in the pit of Harry's stomach.

“How are you not freezing? It's cold as a witch's tit in here.” The comment was out of his mouth before he had a chance to think it through, and Remus barked a laugh. He circled the furniture and sat down next to Harry on the stone, though he was still careful to place a few feet between them.

“I would love to see you use that phrase in front of a pureblood,” Remus said with a small smirk, and Harry smiled a little in return. “Werewolf stamina,” he filled in a moment later, “or whatever you would like to call it. My body regulates temperature better than a human body does, so I'm rarely overly hot or cold.”

“That would explain how you can wear cardigans in August,” Harry was still smiling faintly, feeling more at ease than he had in a while. Things were getting better—slowly—but Harry still had a ways to go before he felt completely comfortable in the same room with the man, much less do anything that even remotely resembled intimacy. At the very least things were cordial, though Harry still struggled to differentiate between his actual feelings on the matter, and what the bond was compelling him to feel. Remus was deeply sorry for what he'd done, that much was obvious, but Harry was still caught by the worry that there was every chance it could happen again. The idea that it might terrified Harry more than he liked to admit and though he wanted to believe that it wouldn't, his hold on that belief was tenuous, at best.

“The interrogation is tomorrow,” Remus said in the same conversational tone of voice, though the effect his words had on Harry were instantaneous. He felt his stomach tense, and he suddenly found the stone beneath him highly fascinating. He knew they needed to discuss it, but Harry really, _really_ didn't want to. “Have you given any thought to how you may feel, seeing them again?”

“Well, if I don't run away screaming that'll be a good start,” Harry smiled bitterly and sipped his tea, hoping the drink might settle his nerves.

“I have every faith in you,” Remus said with a small smile. Harry turned to gaze at the older man, and his eyes once again finding the angry red lines of the self-inflicted injuries from the last moon. The wounds themselves had healed, but they still looked rather painful.

“Injuries of this kind can only be healed by a werewolf's partner,” Remus said, obviously catching Harry looking. He flushed with embarrassment as Remus continued, “self-inflicted wounds of this kind are offered as penance for what I have done. In my wolf state, even with wolfsbane, it was an instinctive reaction that I could not control.”

“Do they hurt?” Harry shifted closer unconsciously, eyeing them curiously. They looked a lot like normal scars, except they were red instead of the usual white.

 “They're suddenly painless,” the breathless quality of Remus's response brought Harry back to himself. He lost his nerve and moved away quickly with a panicked gasp, offering the older man an apologetic look as he resettled himself back in his nest of blankets. Harry tried to bury his sudden panic by hiding behind the mug he still held, and Remus seemed to understand it. He stood, paused as though he wanted to say something, then left Harry to his own devices.

  

~*~

 

Harry did not see Remus again until the following morning. They ate breakfast in tense silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. Harry was replaying everything that had happened over the last few weeks in his head, in the event that he needed to to relay any such information to the interrogators. Harry prodded at his porridge, his stomach tied up in knots. He wasn't sure he could go through with this.

After breakfast, Harry disappeared back to his room to change into his business-casual robes, nondescript blue-grey that would ensure to attract as little attention as possible. As an extra precaution (though he doubted it would do much good) he flattened his fringe over his scar. He knew that his face was as recognizable as his scar these days, but he hoped that the effort would enable him to slip through the crowds more or less unnoticed.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself for what was to come, Harry pulled out his father's silvery invisibility cloak from his old school trunk, which still held the Marauder's Map and his other priceless treasures. He draped it over his arm, slipped out of the room and headed back to the ground level of the house.

Harry found Remus waiting for him in the sitting room, toying with the little clay pot that usually sat on the mantle that held his stock of Floo powder. He was dressed in similarly styled robes as Harry, dark brown and slightly tattered at the hem, as though he'd had them for a long time.

“Ready to go?” Harry aimed for nonchalance, but the quiver in his voice easily betrayed how nervous he was. Remus looked up at the sound of his voice, and he smiled a little while he set the pot back in its place.

Remus was careful to step toward Harry slowly, much in the same way one might attempt to approach a frightened wild animal. He was careful to advance in a way that offered Harry a physical escape route should he need it, and Remus moved with enough care that Harry had ample time to stop him if it became too much. Striving to ignore the alarm bells going off in his head, Harry closed his free hand into a tight fist, the other tightening around the cloak.

“I am,” said Remus, “are you ready for this?” There was a hysterical lilt to Harry's laugh in response to the older man's question.

“I don't think I'd be ready if I had a hundred years to prepare. Here,” he offered the cloak to Remus, “Maybe I'm being paranoid, but the last time you were at the Ministry you were nearly killed so...humour me.”

“Good to know Alastor's _constant vigilance_ lessons did not go to waste,” Remus mused, picking up the cloak with a nostalgic look in his eye. Harry couldn't help but smile a little; no doubt Remus was remembering his father as he looked at it.

“Ha, ha. When you put it on, we can go.” Harry waited, and Remus cast him one last look of amusement before disappearing under it.

Harry jumped a little when he felt an invisible hand close over his wrist. His vision went momentarily hazy, and at once images of the incident filled his mind. Clearly sensing Harry's distress, Remus released him quickly and pulled off the cloak. He looked just as distressed as Harry felt, and he took a large step back to enable Harry to calm himself down before they proceeded.

“Just go ahead of me Harry, I will follow,” Remus said in a soft voice, his expression apologetic. Harry's throat felt tight, and he nodded once before turning to face the Floo, eager to escape the unpleasant situation.

 

Harry waited in the Ministry Atrium for Remus to follow him, and when the Floo flared but no one appeared, Harry knew it had to be him. They made it down to the Auror's Offices without incident, and as they stepped into Harry and Caldwell's office, Remus removed the cloak and handed it back to Harry with a relieved sigh. Clearly, Harry wasn't the only one worried that this little trip would somehow go horribly wrong.

Inside the office, Harry found Caldwell conversing in low tones to two strangers, one in robes that indicated that he was a healer. He was a tall, broad shouldered man with dark skin and a small, pointed beard. The other Harry could not discern their profession by their robes, which were a deep plum. She was a young woman with a kind, heart-shaped face and bright blue hair. At first, he thought it was dyed, but as they approached he saw that her eyebrows and lashes were the same shade, and he was momentarily stunned by it, until Caldwell began to speak, drawing Harry out of his daze.

“Mr Lupin,” Caldwell nodded to Remus and reached forward to shake Remus's hand, “pleasure. I'm Potter's supervisor, Mary Caldwell. This is August Scott, a Mind Healer from St. Mungo's. He'll be on hand to ensure that no lasting damage has been inflicted upon Miss Granger or Mr Weasley.” The tall man nodded to each of them in turn, offering a kind smile as he shook each of their hands.

“This is Alyssa Nguyen,” Caldwell continued, motioning to the blue-haired young woman, who took her turn shaking each of their hands. “She is an accomplished Legilimens, as well as an expert in Mind Magic and Muggle Neuroscience.” Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at the latter accomplishment, and Alyssa smiled warmly at him.

“I'm a half-blood,” she said by way of explanation. “After I finished at Hogwarts I went to Cambridge University before I started my Mind Magic Mastery.” She grinned proudly, and Harry was reminded painfully of Hermione.

“Now Potter,” Caldwell said, pleasantries out of the way, “as for your friends, as I said in the letter they _do_ show signs of magical tampering. They claim no knowledge of this however, but any mention of you was met with...strange results.”

“Strange how?” Harry tensed, his body reacting as though bracing himself for a physical blow while he waited for her answer.

“Well, Weasley was the same as I've ever seen him, but Granger...” Caldwell trailed off with a slight frown. “She went off the rails completely. Ranting and raving about you being in danger and how she absolutely needed to get you away from your partner.” Harry swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, the words bringing back bitter memories of his captivity at the hands of his friends, and he struggled for a moment to remain present.

“She was like that when...” Harry trailed off, unable to say it. Caldwell seemed to understand and gave him a short nod.

“Now, if they are unresponsive to my questioning, Miss Nguyen will use Legilimency to ascertain if they have been placed under a Memory Charm,” Harry winced a little but didn't respond. Legilimency was never a pleasant experience. “If that is the case, I am confident that Miss Nguyen can break it with no adverse effects to your friends, but should something go wrong, Mr Scott will be on hand to tend to them. If we find no Memory Charm, we will administer Veritaserum to each of them. Is this plan agreeable to you, Potter?”

“I...er, yeah. I mean, yes, it is.” Harry tried for his professional tone of voice, but in his anxious state, his assent came out rather jumbled. Caldwell regarded him with a frown.

“Potter, no one is making you do this. If you feel that you cannot handle it, no one will think less of you for it.”

“No,” Harry said at once, “thank you Caldwell, but—but I've got to do this.” The conviction in his voice was stronger this time, though he wished that he felt as confident as he sounded.

“All right then, follow me.” Caldwell had a look on her face that said she didn't entirely believe him, but offered no more protests as she led the troupe down the narrow hallway to the interrogation rooms.

Harry's heart was pounding so hard and fast he was almost certain that Remus could hear it. As they passed Ron's shared office he struggled to mask his mounting fear. Remus didn't say a word, both keeping his distance and eyeing Harry worriedly in equal measure. The now-familiar sensation of feeling as though he'd been split down the middle resurfaced, and Harry felt dizzy.

They stopped in front of a nondescript door with a large brass '1' nailed to the centre. “The observation room for the interrogations is here,” Caldwell said, her voice exuding calm in a way that told Harry that she, too, could likely sense his fear. “They will not be able to see or hear you. Potter, if for any reason you feel that it is too much, you may leave. All right?”

“Yeah, thanks Caldwell,” he offered a small smile, which she returned as she tapped the wood and the door swung open. Harry and Remus stepped inside, Harry unable to stop himself from jumping a little as the door snapped shut behind them.

Harry immediately felt as though all the air had gone from the room. He felt very hot and queasy, panic bubbling up to the surface of his mind like an erupting volcano.

The little dark room Harry now found himself in was highly reminiscent of the time he spent locked away in Hermione and Ron's guest room. Dark spots danced in his vision, and the floor felt as though it was tilting beneath his feet. Harry cradled his head in his hands, groaning as he struggled to calm down.

Harry had no idea how long he had been like that, when suddenly a warm body was pressed into his own in a close embrace. It was only then that he realized he was trembling as he clung onto the person that held him. The person was rubbing his back in slow, steady circles and murmuring softly to him, though Harry couldn't catch the words. Harry breathed in the familiar scent, and slowly, he came back to himself.

“It's all right Harry,” Remus murmured, holding him close, “no one is here to hurt you, take you away, or lock you up. You're safe.” He seemed to stumble over the last two words, and at the same moment, Harry realized what precisely was happening, and he felt himself freeze.

“Remus, let go of me.” He spoke in a rush, his voice so small and meek that he almost didn't recognize it as his own. Remus let him go at once and took several quick steps backward, which was lucky as Harry's knees immediately gave way and he lost his breakfast on the marble floor.

Remus stood to one side, still in Harry's field of vision, his body lurching as though he longed to go to his side, but seemed to think better of it.

“I'm sorry,” Harry rasped, vanishing the vomit with a quick flick of his wand, then sat down heavily on one of the available chairs that faced a large, rectangular window into the interrogation room. Never before had he felt so pitiful, so _weak_. He'd been viewed as a victim many times ever since entering into the wizarding world; a victim of war, a victim of losses early in his life...but never before had he felt it so strongly. He hated that he'd been reduced to this by people he'd trusted. Even so, he still couldn't bring himself to hate Remus.

“There's nothing for you to be sorry for,” Remus replied, smiling sadly. “This isn't easy for you; a lot has happened in a short amount of time, and it will take more than a handful of weeks for you to feel like yourself again.” Remus looked like he wanted to say more, but his attention had been drawn to the large window, and Harry turned to see two Magical Law Enforcement officials ushering Ron and Hermione into the little room. Harry felt his breath catch.

The pair sat down, Ron looking miserable, Hermione looking furious. Caldwell stepped in with the two Mind experts in tow, and in the same moment Hermione's gaze snapped up, her eyes finding Harry's and for a moment he swore that she could see him.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind that Hermione stood up and lurched forward, tearing around the table and heading straight for the window. Startled, Harry jumped back in his chair, it lurching backward dangerously. Remus caught the back of it to keep Harry from falling flat on his back, and let go quickly. At the same time, Caldwell stopped her from going further with a Tripping Hex. Hurrying over, she hoisted Hermione up by the upper arm and steered her back to her chair.

“No, you don't understand,” she cried tearfully, struggling against the hold Caldwell had on her. “Harry _can't_ be with him, it's not safe!”

“Shut up Granger,” Caldwell snapped while she forced her back into the chair, which proved to be much more difficult than Caldwell seemed to expect, as the moment she let go of her Hermione jolted to her feet again. This time Caldwell was ready for her and forced her back into the chair, tying her wrists to the armrests with a quick charm before Hermione had a chance to try and escape again. All the while Ron looked on quietly, his expression unreadable.

“No, _no, nooo_...” Hermione wailed, struggling against the bonds, tears streaking her cheeks. “You don't understand, I _have_ to help Harry...”

“How does she know I'm back here?” Harry whispered, clutching tightly at the armrests of the chair while he watched his once-friend, half-mad in a hysterical fit.

“I don't know,” Remus said in the same soft tone of voice, sounding just as alarmed as he did.

“Silence Granger!” Caldwell barked, and Hermione's mouth snapped shut. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, while she tugged weakly at her bonds. All the while Ron stared at her like she was a stranger.

“Now,” Caldwell began, leaning over the table as she stared Hermione down. “Potter claims that you held him in your home against his will for fourteen days. What do you have to say to that?”

“I have no idea what he's talking about!” Hermione said tearfully, her broken tone of voice making Harry stomach lurch with guilt. “I—I remember him coming to us because R-Remus attacked him and I remember him staying for the full moon, but that's it, I swear!” Hermione's gaze shifted from Caldwell to where Harry was sitting, and even though he'd been reassured that they wouldn't be able to see him, he still had the strangest feeling that Hermione _could._

“Please,” she sobbed, looking back to Caldwell, “you _have_ to get Harry away from Remus, it's not safe!”

“Potter has chosen not to press charges against Mr Lupin, my hands are tied on that front. Right now I am asking _you,_ Miss Granger, why you felt compelled to hold Harry Potter prisoner, when you two claim to be his closest friends.” Caldwell said, staring Hermione down with a cold glare. Hermione looked almost beside herself with anguish.

“I didn't, I didn't! I didn't do any of those things, I was trying to help Harry! I need to break this curse for him!” Caldwell arched a brow to Hermione's tearful explanation.

“You are talking of their bond?” She asked, and Hermione glared at her.

“Curse,” Hermione snapped, while she gave her bindings another tug. “It is a curse.”

“Fine, whatever you say Miss Granger,” Caldwell said, her tone making Harry think that this was not the first time she'd had this conversation with her. She shifted her attention to Ron, who had been sitting quietly, staring at the table while Hermione was interrogated.

“Weasley,” she began, making Ron's head snap up in alarm. “Tell me your recollection of events. Earlier you told us that you too had no knowledge of the claim Potter made to you two holding him captive.”

For a long moment, Ron didn't speak. He looked troubled, though nowhere near the intense anguish Hermione was displaying. He looked over to Hermione, and the he suddenly looked apologetic.

“No,” Ron said, shifting his gaze back to the tabletop, “I—I remember everything.” Hermione's eyes widened and she gasped, staring at Ron not with the look of betrayal Harry would have expected, but one of anger.

“A few days after the full moon, Remus came looking for Harry. I—I didn't think letting Harry go back to someone who tried—” he cut himself off, looking both regretful and angry at the same time.

“Hermione had been working on these... _Portbombs,_ she calls them,” Ron continued, focusing intently on the table in front of him. “It's a randomized Portkey, and when you throw it at the target, the Portkey will transport them to a random location anywhere in Europe. It makes for an easy getaway, and it will take some time for the person to find you again. She used one on Remus, stunned Harry, and brought him back into our flat.”

As Ron spoke, Hermione continued to stare him down. The look made Harry think she was trying to tell him silently to shut up, though she did not say a word in defence of her actions while Ron told his tale.

“Miss Granger assaulted Mr Lupin with an untested weapon,” Caldwell summarized, to which Ron nodded meekly. “What happened when you two brought Potter back to your flat?”

“Hermione put him in our guest room, and warded the door before we went to bed that night. She left him with his wand in the hopes that that would help him trust our judgment.”

“That's a fairly weak justification, you realize.” Ron didn't look up or react at all to Caldwell's comment, and instead pressed forward with the story.

“At first, Hermione was hell-bent on finding a way to break the bond. She was scared—we both were—for Harry's safety. He's too trusting, too forgiving. We knew he'd go back to his... _attacker_ in a heartbeat.” Harry winced at Ron's harsh words, but said nothing. He wasn't wrong, and there wouldn't've been much Harry could say in his defence, even if his best mate had been able to hear him.

“But after a while, I never saw Hermione researching anything about the bond, and she spent all her time trying to reason with Harry through the closed door of the guest room, or strengthening the wards on the door to make sure that he couldn't get out. I didn't like it, Harry was locked up by—” Ron broke off, and started again, “Harry experienced something similar when we were twelve, and I didn't think it was a great idea to keep him locked up like that for too long. Hermione disagreed.”

Harry continued to listen in rapt silence, his eyes fixed on his friend. with the telling of the tale came images into his mind of what had transpired, and a shiver ran through him. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Remus jerk forward slightly, as though he was tempted to comfort him, but at the last moment seemed to think better of it.

“And why did you not report Miss Granger, Weasley? Surely you know that by saying nothing, we can charge you with aiding and abetting?”

“She's my girlfriend, Caldwell,” Ron said, finally lifting his gaze to her, looking hurt. Still, Hermione said nothing in defence of herself or Ron. “We—Me, Hermione, and Harry have been through all sorts of mad things together. Her heart was in the right place, she just...” Ron trailed off with a small shake of his head. “I tried getting Harry out on my own, but Hermione's wards were too strong. Then we left for The Burrow for the hols, and when we came back, Harry was gone.”

“Elf broke our wards,” Hermione muttered, speaking suddenly while she looked up at Caldwell with red, puffy eyes. “I need to help Harry. We know what's best for him, Ron doesn't understand, but we do.”

“Miss Granger, I'm certain you'll find that—” Caldwell broke herself off abruptly, and stared at Hermione, a fearful glint in her eye that Harry could never recall seeing before. “Hold on, _'We'_?”

Hermione smirked. A cold, uncharacteristic expression that did not befit the Hermione that Harry had always known.

“Oops.” 


	15. Broken

Chapter 15 – Broken

 

Stunned silence filled the interrogation room.

Harry stood, his mouth hanging open while he took a single step towards the window. Hermione arched her neck, a slow, predatory smile replacing the smirk as she locked eyes with Harry. His breath hitched and he jumped back a little, at the same moment he saw Remus lurch forward, clearly planning to go to him, but Harry held up a hand and the older man froze in mid-step.

“I'm okay Remus,” Harry said softly, his eyes darting from Remus to Hermione and back again so quickly that he began to feel dizzy. Shoulders slumping dejectedly, Remus backed up and sat down on one of the available chairs. Harry drew his wand, uncertain if he would need it, but he had no idea what to expect from Hermione in this state, and he figured that he was better safe than sorry.

 

“Who are you?” Caldwell said evenly, her voice hard and betraying none of the fear Harry had seen in her eyes mere moments before.

“I'm Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, her voice high and innocent, though at this point it fooled no one.

“Who. Are. You?” Caldwell enunciated each word, her voice quivering a little as she raised her wand. Ron was staring at his girlfriend, looking fearful.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” she said again with the same innocent tone, “age twenty-two. Gryffindor, attended Hogwa—”

“—I am speaking to the being invading Miss Granger's body. Who are you? Believe me when I say you do _not_ want me to refer you to my colleague, she would be all to happy to rip the information we want out of you.” Caldwell looked over to Alyssa Nguyen, the Mind Magic expert. She smiled knowingly, her arms crossed across her chest.

“I'd like to see you try,” Hermione sneered in a voice that was not entirely her own, the innocent act crumbling. Caldwell growled with frustration while Harry pressed his palm flat against the window; he'd never seen her lose control like this, and it was more than a little alarming.

“I demand to know who you are,” Caldwell growled, staring Hermione down, while she grinned toothily, but it was not a nice expression. It made Harry feel strangely cold inside.

“I am but a foot soldier,” Hermione finally said, pride evident in her tone as she spoke, seemingly abandoning her reluctance to talk as she boasted. Hermione whipped her head around to face the the window, and her eyes locked with Harry's. She smirked again when Harry took a small, nervous step back.

“ _Tell me who you are!_ ” Caldwell snarled, quickly losing her patience with Hermione's non-answers. She ignored Caldwell completely and let out a shrill cackle the sound making Harry tense.

“I know you're here Potter, why not face me?” She giggled, “didn't you enjoy your little incarceration? It was for your own good, of course.” The sarcastic amusement in her voice made Harry feel sick, and he shivered as he fought the urge to bolt.

“Leave Harry alone!” Harry was a little surprised to see that it was Ron who had spoken, up from his chair and feet apart almost in a fighting stance, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You've done enough damage,” he said, but Hermione ignored him completely.

“Come out, come out Potter!” She cried in a sing-song voice, “come out and _play!_ I didn't manage to drive you to madness in that little cell, but I promise you, you'll be sharing a ward with Longbottom's parents soon enough,” she sneered, gasping sharply a moment later as Caldwell's patience snapped, and her elbow came down to strike Hermione across the cheekbone with a sharp _crack_. Her head whipped to the side, and she turned back to look at Caldwell, a bruise blossoming on her cheek, but her expression had not changed, and it was almost as though she couldn't feel it.

 

Watching Hermione, Harry felt sick. He moved forward and stopped directly in front of the window, his fingers curled against the glass, and he trembled as memories of the war flooded his mind in a way that they hadn't in years. The madness he saw in her not unlike Bellatrix Lestrange, and it took all of Harry's strength to keep from falling apart on the spot. Ron did not seem to be faring any better, staring at Hermione with a look of absolute horror on his face. Even from his distance, Harry could see that he was close to tears.

“You won't be going anywhere near Potter, not again,” Caldwell growled. She nodded to Alyssa, and she stepped forward, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. “Miss Nguyen, if you would be so kind.”

“With pleasure,” she traded places with Caldwell, who stepped back to stand next to the Healer August Scott, who had his wand at the ready.

“ _Legilimens!_ ” Alyssa wasted no time in casting the spell, and at once Hermione head snapped back and stared blankly at the ceiling. Alyssa's eyes were squinted, the muscles in her wand arm tense and rigid, and after a long moment of silence, a droplet of blood slipped from her left nostril and trickled over her lips and down to her jaw. Before anyone had a chance to see if she was all right, she let out a cry as she was jerked backward and thrown into the wall directly behind her by an unseen force.

Caldwell and August rushed to Alyssa's side, and she stood on unsteady legs, wiping the blood from her face with her sleeve. “It's okay,” she said shakily to the Auror and the Healer, “I'm all right,” she said as Harry looked on. He seriously doubted her sentiment as she was very pale, with a greenish tinge to her skin. She stared at Hermione fearfully, who was laughing wildly.

“You have _no_ idea how _easy_ it was to slip into this body,” Hermione said with a leer as she calmed down from her laughing fit, “so many good intentions ready to be... _twisted._ ” She chuckled, her red-rimmed eyes wide and mad.

“What have you done with Hermione? What happened to her?” Ron demanded as he backed into the interrogation room's wall, his expression alight with fear.

“She's in here, somewhere,” Hermione said as she turned and smirked at the redhead, “I can access the surface consciousness easily enough, and even _you_ believed it.”

“Shut up,” Ron snapped, pressing his back into the wall, “just _shut up._ You're not Hermione, you _can't_ be,” his voice shook as he spoke. Harry winced as he looked on, no longer sick with fear, but with empathetic anguish for Ron.

“Oh, but I am,” she purred, grinning wildly at Ron, who looked as though he might be sick. “I am Hermione, completely. I just encouraged her. Pushed her. She has so many ideas, so much _love_ for her friends. Such things are so very easy to manipulate, if you know how.”

“Why did you attack Granger, why not both of them?” Caldwell spoke from across the room, supporting Alyssa while August had his wand pointed at the blue-haired young woman, murmuring rapidly under his breath. To the question, Hermione rolled her eyes.

“We tried with Weasley, but simpleminded fools like him have nothing to offer us,” Ron glared at her, looking rather hurt. He didn't say a word, and Harry recognized the look on his face—it was very similar to how he'd looked when he had faced the locket Horcrux.

“All inferiority complexes and such _devotion_ to his woman and his friends,” Hermione said, her voice laced with disgust. “A weakling hiding behind greater men...or women, in this case. Sickening loyalty we can't use, Granger has passion, good intentions, and powerful magic. _That_ we could use.” Ron stared at her as though he'd been slapped, and Caldwell stepped forward. Alyssa hung back, supported by August while she tried to regain her footing.

“Who do you work for? How would an insane Harry Potter help your cause?”

“We couldn't very well kill _The Chosen One_ , it would create too much media attention, someone was bound to notice.” Hermione said scornfully, her eyes once more shifting to the window, and Harry clenched his hands into fists, refusing to back away out of fear. “We just needed him out of the way.”

“Why?”

“With him indisposed, we could focus on breaking the wards to that decrepit house of his. The werewolf isn't in tune with the warding, not how Potter is. He would never see us coming.”

“Red Moon,” Harry breathed, Caldwell parroting him at almost the same moment.

“Red Moon, I should have known. You were after Lupin all along.”

“The werewolf was free game, the werewolf that belonged to _Harry Potter_. We all wanted to be the one to claim his head,” Hermione laughed, a mad, wide smile stretching across her face.

More than just sickened by her words, Harry felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him. He looked away from the chaos of the interrogation room, and focused instead on Remus. Throughout the entire exchange, Remus had sat quietly in one of the available chairs, his head bowed forward as he stared intently at his knees. His hands were clasped tightly together, and every few seconds Harry could see his body tremble, as though he was struggling with the urge to go to Harry. It didn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to guess that Remus could probably sense the distress that was coursing through him.

Harry's heart ached at the sight of him, but his body refused to move. How dare she—he— _it_ treat Remus like some sort of game animal! Shivering with rage and anguish, he forced himself to look back into the interrogation room, his emotions towards Remus still far too mixed up for him to make a clear decision about what he wanted to do one way or the other. Focusing on his possessed friend somehow seemed easier.

“That _werewolf_ has a name,” Caldwell snapped angrily, “we are not in the business of treating sentient creatures as second-class citizens. Remus Lupin deserves as much respect as any other wizard on the street.” Hermione snorted derisively to the statement.

“Werewolves are animals. Beasts without conscience. They spread their disease indiscriminately. They must be culled.”

“Spoken in true Red Moon fashion,” Caldwell said, her voice heavy with disgust. “What have you done to Hermione Granger? Have you possessed her?”

“What do I have to gain from telling you that?” She asked sweetly, cocking her head to the side. “We have Granger, she is ours now. That is all you need to know.”

“Tell us and I'll be gentle when I free Granger of you,” Alyssa rasped, back on unsteady feet as she walked forward to stand at Caldwell's side.

“You can barely stand, whore,” Hermione sneered, a wild, mad grin plastered across her face. “You could not access my mind when you used Legilimency on Granger, and you will not expel me now. You haven't the strength.”

“I have strength enough for this,” Alyssa spaced her feet apart, lifted her wand and brought it down in a great, sweeping arc. “ _Ejic_ _ĕ_ _ro!_ ”

Hermione screamed.

Her head rolled on her shoulders, her body convulsed, and her eyes rolled up, showing nothing but bloodshot white. It all happened in a matter of seconds, then the vague form of a human—Harry could not tell if it was a man or a woman—made of a thick white fog burst from Hermione, slammed into the wall behind her and disappeared. It left nothing but a wet stain upon the wood in its wake.

In the dead silence that followed, Alyssa fell to her knees, her face shining with a thin layer of sweat. At the same moment, Hermione let out a tiny sob.

“Just you in there, Granger?” Caldwell crouched down in front of her so that they were at eye-level, and Hermione nodded a little, hiccoughing between small cries, tears once more streaking her cheeks. She was very white, and she looked positively distraught. Ron took a small step forward, the look on his face hopeful.

“We'll have to verify that, you realize,” she Caldwell continued, and Hermione nodded again, but she seemed too distressed to speak.

Caldwell wasted no time and drew a tiny vial from the pocket of her robe, containing a clear liquid that Harry recognized at once as Veritaserum. She unstoppered it, the cap doubling as a contraption that looked not unlike an eyedropper. Hermione obediently stuck out her tongue, and Caldwell squeezed three drops onto it.

Hermione drew back in her tongue and swallowed, a slight tremor running through her while she pursed her lips, as though she'd swallowed a lemon. Instantaneously, her eyes slid out of focus, and Harry could easily see that the potion had done its work. He pressed his palm flat against the window waiting with bated breath to see if Hermione was okay. He was still badly shaken by everything that happened, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying about her—she was still his friend. Caldwell stood up straight and looked down at Hermione while she slipped the potion back into her robes.

“What is your name?” Caldwell said, in a calm, steady tone of voice.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Hermione said tonelessly.

“What is your age?”

“Twenty-two.”

“What was your Hogwarts house?”

“Gryffindor.”

“And what was your favourite school subject?”

“Arithmancy.” Caldwell looked up to Ron, who nodded once to confirm her answers.

“Has the invading consciousness been expelled in full?”

“Yes.”

Caldwell nodded to Alyssa, who stepped forward and flicked her wand at Hermione, causing her head to jerk back again. Within moments she returned to her normal self, and Alyssa offered Caldwell a short nod, confirming Hermione's statement. Caldwell nodded in return, while Ron deflated with relief. She refocused her attention on Hermione, studying her for a long moment before she began her round of questioning.

“What can you tell me of your possession?”

“It was Red Moon,” Hermione said softly, but clearly. “I do not know the name of the person in question, it did not feel like a traditional ghost possession. A shadow fell over my mind, and it encouraged me to do things—awful things.

“I was afraid for Harry,” Hermione continued, “he suffered terribly at the hands of someone he trusted, and I just wanted him safe. A voice whispered to me that he would be safe if I could keep him from running away. I remember Ron saying that it wasn't fair to keep Harry locked up like that, but it just seemed so... _right._ ” A single tear escaped Hermione's eye and trickled down her cheek as she spoke, though her voice remained monotonous.

“Why was Red Moon so keen on getting to Remus Lupin and pushing Potter to a mental break?” Caldwell asked, her expression unreadable.

“It was meant as a side job, outside their main directive. They wanted Harry out of the picture, and they did not see Remus as a person. To them he's an animal, and they had no other desire beyond wanting to kill him just to say that they did it. They know that Harry's mind is strong, and he might not break, killing Remus would prove to be an adequate distraction if they failed.”

“So to sum up, Potter was getting too close, and they wanted him out of the way.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, “they did not have the nerve to kill him, they felt that doing such a thing would draw too much media attention. They felt that pushing him to madness would be enough, or grief, whichever they managed to achieve first.”

“Why did they possess you, and not Weasley as well?” Caldwell asked, her voice hard and professional. Even from the distance which Harry stood, he could see the disgust and horror in her eyes. He took several steps back and sat down heavily in one of the available chairs. It was only then that he realized that he was trembling. The implication that he could have lost Remus had it not been for his spark of inspiration when he called on Kreacher was horrifying, and it made the bile rise in his throat. Part of Harry longed to lunge at the older man and never let him go, while another, stronger part of him still balked at the idea. He shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to focus on Hermione's questioning.

“They tried to get Ron too,” Hermione said, in answer to Caldwell's question, “but this possession that they tried to cast on us was in many ways like an adapted Imperius Curse. It amplified our normal reactions tenfold. Ron just wanted to protect Harry. I was infuriated by what happened, I was determined to fix it, I needed to find some loophole to get Harry out of this...bond. My reactions to Harry's attack came from a place of rage, Ron's came from a place of love and loyalty. Red Moon holds the same level of respect for things like Love and Friendship that Voldemort did.” Caldwell and the others flinched at the use of the name, but Hermione did not react to it. Harry looked on miserably, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Remus fidgeting, clearly still trying to resist the urge to go to Harry and attempt to comfort him. He was grateful that Remus seemed to have a handle on the temptation, he felt too emotionally exhausted to deal with a panic attack on top of everything else.

“Do you know what this curse was that they cast on you?”

“No. It was something of their own invention.” Caldwell looked on at Hermione, a calculating look that told Harry she was going through everything in her mind, to see if she'd forgotten anything.

“How did you know that Potter was here? We all saw you tear cheek towards the observation window.”

“I don't know. I couldn't see him, but I just _...felt_ him _._ Similar to intuition, I just _knew_ that he was there, and my only thought was to get him away from Remus.”

“I see,” Caldwell said, and paused, her eyes roving over Hermione, studying her for several long moments before she relaxed a little.

“Very well,” she said at last, and drew her wand. Caldwell tapped Hermione's wrists to release her bonds, then pulled the antidote from her pocket and offered it to her. The moment the truth serum was no longer in effect Hermione's expression shifted from a blank daze to abject horror. She let out another sob, and buried her face in her hands. Ron rushed to her at once and she threw her arms around him, positively howling into his shoulder.

Harry stood on trembling limbs. He felt queasy, and couldn't decide how he felt about his friends or about Red Moon's latest scheme to try and ruin his life. He was shaken, his ability to trust that his friends were _actually_ his friends had been badly splintered, and he was even less certain about how he felt about things where Remus was concerned.

Harry felt completely overwhelmed. Despite the fact that he had been shown absolute proof that the imprisonment hadn't been Hermione's fault, he was unable to completely shake the sense of betrayal off. He could still remember her venomous tone, her words, that tiny room. The idea of facing either of them at the moment felt like more than he could handle. Harry barely noticed that he had begun to hyperventilate.

Remus seemed to sense what Harry was going to do roughly three seconds before he did it, standing up and giving Harry a small nod.

“Go,” he said, “I'll speak to your supervisor and I'll be back later.”

Without a word, Harry tore from the room.

  

~*~

 

Not ten minutes later Harry found himself sprawled on his bed, changed back into his muggle clothes as he stared at the ceiling with a half-empty teacup on his nightstand.

So much was going on in his head, and Harry felt like he could no longer deal with any of it. His friends had betrayed his trust... _but not really._ He couldn't exactly blame them for the possession, Hermione in particular. It would be like blaming Ginny for the whole Chamber of Secrets madness back in his second year. The knowledge did little to quell the anxiety Harry felt at the thought of seeing either of them any time soon, however.

At the same time, Remus had utterly destroyed Harry's trust in him... _but not really._ With the bond not fully settled, his control over his actions around the full moon were tenuous, at best. Harry felt as though he should have known better, but Remus couldn't have expected him to do more than he was actually ready for, could he? _Clearly some part of his mind did, or none of this would've happened,_ Harry thought miserably, while he reached up and grabbed a pillow and threw it over his head with a frustrated huff, burying his fingertips in the soft down as he clutched at it tightly. _Of course,_ Harry thought, _none of it would've happened to begin with if I wasn't such a fucking sentimental git and just got rid of the damn thing._

Harry shivered, his throat growing tight, and he struggled to calm himself before he fell apart. He hated how utterly lost and alone he felt. He was just so _tired_ of being miserable.

 _I just want things to go back to how they were, I just want to pretend none of this ever happened._ Harry felt the pillowcase's fabric grow slightly damp, and he was glad that no one was around to see that he was crying. He took several slow breaths in an effort to calm himself; a faint smell invaded his senses and he realized at once what he held— _Remus's pillow._

Harry removed it from his face and stared at it in wonder. Was it pure coincidence that he'd grabbed that one? Harry wasn't so sure. He threw the pillow to the side and returned his gaze to the ceiling, frowning. _I still care for him,_ Harry thought, and he sniffled sharply and rubbed at his eyes. He was never a crier, and he was sure that the air in the room was simply too dry—or something. That had to be it. It definitely wasn't that he had grown weak after everything that had happened. He wasn't _weak_.

 _I still care for him,_ the thought repeated itself in his head as he began to calm down, _but he scares me too._ Harry shivered as he remembered the scant few times he'd seen Remus lose control. It scared him more than he'd ever want to admit. It was sometimes so easy to forget that Remus wasn't human—he was a _werewolf._ He had something primal in him, and it seemed to rear its head when it was least expected.

Harry heard the distant flare of the Floo, and Harry knew that it had to be Remus returning home.

“Harry?” Harry had been aware of the werewolf's return on such a vaguely conscious level that when Remus's voice filled the dead silence, much closer than he had expected, Harry almost jumped out of his skin.

He sat up with a sharp gasp, his eyes finding the older man at once, standing in the open doorway while he watched him with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered after a few minutes of awkward silence. He made a grab for Remus's pillow again, and hugged it against his chest. “I was a million miles away, thinking.”

“It's my fault,” Remus said, and Harry didn't answer. He wasn't sure if Remus meant the apology to be for startling him, or for everything else. “Erm, may I come in?”

Harry lifted his gaze, and it locked with Remus's. After everything that had happened, Harry felt utterly drained, both physically and emotionally.

“No,” Harry said. Remus deflated a little at his negation, but Harry pressed on before Remus could misinterpret it. “I just...I need some time to think, Remus. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, and I need to be alone right now.”

“You don't need to explain yourself,” Remus replied with a small smile, “I'll be downstairs if you need anything.” Remus moved as though to leave, but paused and turned back to him.

“Your supervisor asked me to tell you that Ron and Hermione have both been suspended. They acknowledge that it wasn't their fault, but it doesn't erase what happened. She also insists on you taking a Medical Leave from work. She gave me the impression that it wasn't negotiable.” He offered Harry a small smile, turned, and left him alone.

Harry watched him go, frowning slightly. He listened to Remus's soft footfalls on the stairs, and the moment they tapered off into silence, Harry fell heavily into the mattress, bouncing a little as he landed.

The look Remus had given him almost broke Harry's heart, and he felt momentarily overwhelmed with guilt. Harry buried his face in the pillow again, and tried to shut off his brain for a little while.

 

Harry didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke sometime later with a tray of food balanced carefully on his night table, and his invisibility cloak draped over the door of his wardrobe. It was well past midnight according to his watch, but given that Harry had eaten precious little over the course of the day, what with all the excitement, he was suddenly ravenous.

Harry picked up the bowl on the tray and drained half of the sweet puréed soup in one, and looked toward the open door of his bedroom. Even from here, he could hear the soft sounds of Remus fast asleep in the other room. Folding his legs under him while he ate, Harry suspected that the food before him was prepared by Remus, not Kreacher—it was just too good.

 _He cares for me,_ Harry thought, shocked at how much the realization surprised him. He had known, of course, but somehow in that moment it occurred to him that while he knew Remus cared for him, desired him even, beyond that, Harry didn't know what that _meant_ exactly. Did Remus actually _love_ him, like the information he'd read on the bond said that he would? It was still a strange concept to wrap his head around.

 _He's trying to make this easier for me,_ Harry thought, his fingers ghosting across the rim of the bowl. _This is hard for him, but he's still doing his best to give me the space I need. If he's trying, maybe I should too._

Decision made, Harry moved the tray to his lap and began to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ejicĕro is pronounced eh-yi-seh-roh.


	16. Amends

Chapter 16 – Amends

 

Caldwell had termed what felt like his fifteenth holiday off work in as many months as 'Medical Leave', but it felt more like a suspension. Harry was tired of being at home, tired of not working on something productive, and he just wanted Caldwell to let him go back to work. It wasn't as though he was bothered by Remus's presence; over the last week he'd gotten significantly better at not panicking when Remus got too close, but things with his so-called partner were still far from perfect.

At the same time, Ron and Hermione had been suspended, and they had each sent him a veritable flock of owls bearing apologetic notes. Harry knew that they meant well and he appreciated the sentiment, but he couldn't say that he was ready to face them, not so soon. They seemed to understand this and didn't push, just as Remus seemed to understand and didn't push, but all the _understanding_ had begun to grate on him.

In point of fact, he _hated_ it.

Harry was so tired of people treating him like some fragile flower that might shatter from the slightest gust of wind. He wasn't weak, but it seemed that everyone around him had forgotten that, and were happy to treat him like a child, doing what was _best_ for him, rather than let him make those decisions for himself, like proper adult.. More and more often, Harry had begun to wish that someone _would_ push him, make him feel _something_. Every time he saw an understanding smile from Remus, or a carefully worded letter from one of his friends he just wanted to scream.

 

By the end of the second week, Harry had done little more than sleep. He'd gone off his food, barely picking at his meals, and he had no interest in doing even the simplest of tasks, like showering or dressing. He simply couldn't be bothered, and Harry saw little point to doing either, given that he wasn't going anywhere, anyway. More than once during his 'Leave' when he'd wandered downstairs instead of spending the day in bed he'd caught Remus giving him odd looks. He looked troubled, which was nothing new, but it was different than the self-castigation that he'd grown used to seeing. Harry wasn't sure what it meant and he dismissed it, in no mood to cross-examine the werewolf's psyche.

Harry's peaceful state of nothingness was shattered one bright, Friday morning in mid-February.

“Upsy daisy Master Harry!” Kreacher cried, jerking Harry awake at once, “the werewolf is wanting you up, and Kreacher promised to gets you up!” The elf bustled into the room, throwing open the curtains and snatching Harry's blanket off him before he could get a good grip on it.

“Piss off Kreacher,” Harry said with a groan, pressing a pillow over his head while he curled up, trying to get warm without his duvet. “It's too early to get up, leave me alone.”

“It is nearly lunchtime Master, and Kreacher is needing you up,” the elf said sternly. Before Harry could protest, he was lifted off his bed and half carried, half dragged to the bathroom. Kreacher clicked his fingers and banished Harry's pyjamas, then shoved him under the hot spray of the shower. Everything happened so quickly, it only registered with Harry what was happening when he felt the shower spray come into contact with his skin, effectively rousing him with a yelp of surprise.

“All right, all right, I'm up!” He yelled, grumbling mutinously he grabbed the shampoo and made a mental note to murder Remus for putting Kreacher up to this.

The elf stayed in the bathroom on the other side of the curtain while Harry washed, and only left him alone after he offered Harry some real clothes, along with his glasses. It was clear the elf was making sure Harry did not try and sneak back to bed, which was a shame, as the whole process of washing himself had left him rather exhausted.

Harry dried himself roughly and yanked on the clothing, grumbling to himself the entire time. He shuffled downstairs while he debated whom to kill first—Remus or Kreacher.

“Good morning,” Remus said pleasantly, while Harry glared. Seemingly ignorant to Harry's burning desire to commit murder, he curled his finger in a _come_ motion and nodded towards the kitchen. “Come with me.”

Something in Remus's tone told Harry it would be better not to argue, though he couldn't quite explain how he knew. Harry followed sullenly, and Remus stopped next to the little kitchen table. There was a plate set at Harry's usual seat filled with a roast beef sandwich, a mountain of chips, and an unopened bottle of butterbeer.

“Sit down,” Remus said, and Harry obeyed, still angry, but curiosity had begun to bubble to the surface as he slid into the offered seat, and Remus sat down across from him. He braced his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together, resting his chin on the top of his intertwined hands.

“Eat,” Remus said, using that same _no arguments_ tone, “and then we'll talk.”

Harry didn't feel particularly hungry, but he obeyed and ate his way through as much as he could before his stomach began to protest. He'd consumed barely half of the offered food, but he suspected that part of his lack of appetite stemmed from the way Remus was staring at him, watching him like a hawk while he ate.

“Okay,” Harry said, pushing his plate away as he looked up at Remus, and nursed his bottle of butterbeer. “What did you want to talk about?” The food had fizzled out most of Harry's anger at the man, and now Harry watched him with guarded curiosity.

“Harry, you're depressed,” Remus said, and it took Harry a great deal of effort to bite back a sarcastic remark. Of course he was depressed, _no duh_. Remus seemed to sense Harry's irritation at his comment, and quickly elaborated. “I mean from everything that has happened, you've fallen into a proper depression,” Remus said, guilt flitting over his face when he paused, then pushed forward, though Harry could still see that he was riddled with guilt. “Sleeping at all hours, lethargy, no appetite, your reluctance to maintain your personal hygiene... It isn't healthy, Harry.”

“What does it matter?” Harry wasn't looking at Remus, but instead focused his attention on fiddling with the neck of the bottle in his hands. “Caldwell clearly thinks I'm an invalid, she won't let me come back to the office for another week, I can't see my friends because I'm fucking terrified of something happening again and I can't—” he cut himself off with a soft growl, a light flush creeping up his neck. He'd been particularly frustrated with himself that despite his longing to fix things with Remus, he still hadn't the nerve to do anything about it.

“It matters because when these things take root it takes a very long time to come back to yourself. You can't allow it to control your life,” Harry looked up in surprise at the hard tone in which Remus spoke, and Harry did not miss this distinctive haunted look in his eyes.

“I don't want you to end up like me Harry,” he said softly, locking eyes with him. “I don't want you to become a sad old man with no sense of self-worth. You're more than that. You're _better_ than that.”

Harry didn't know what he had expected when he'd sat down earlier, but it surely wasn't this. He stared at Remus, who looked so lost, so _sad_. Harry had no idea what to say, and alternated between staring at his lap, and looking at Remus, but no inspirational words of comfort came to him. He felt so indescribably sad for Remus, and it pained Harry deeply that the older man thought so little of himself.

In recent months, Harry felt as though he had learned a lot about Remus, learned things he likely never shared with anyone else. Harry's mind conjured up images of the months and years following the death of his parents, Sirius's imprisonment and Wormtail's 'death', and what it must have been like for Remus to be suddenly so alone. Harry still had people in his life, but Remus had had no one for a long time. He couldn't even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been.

Steeling himself for something he'd tried to do for nearly two weeks but didn't have the nerve to do, he set down the bottle, stood, and moved to the seat adjacent to the older man's. Remus watched him uncertainly, while Harry took a slow breath to steady himself. Strangely, he felt very little of the panic that he so often associated with closeness these days, and he wondered if that was because his intention was different than usual. He wasn't getting close just _because_ , he was getting close to offer Remus comfort. Harry reached forward, his hand shaking a little as he slipped it into Remus's, the first contact they'd consensually shared in nearly two months.

Remus's palm felt hot against Harry's, and he looked up at Harry with a vulnerable, hopeful look in his eyes. Harry felt a thrill run through him, a sensation he'd thought had been lost. It wasn't a sexual sensation, far from it, but a sensation of completion. Like he'd been living with a half life these last months, and once more he was made whole. It was dizzying in its intensity, and it took a moment for Harry to focus long enough to form words.

“I don't want you to feel worthless, or like you aren't...” Harry's soft words trailed off, and bowed his head, unable to bring himself to say _loved._ “I don't like feeling like this. This...emptiness. But I don't know what you want me to do about it.”

“Do things one at a time,” Remus said gently, squeezing Harry's hand once before pulling away. Harry looked up, surprised that Remus had been the one to pull back first, the older man practically glowing with barely-controlled joy.

“Go out tomorrow,” he said gently, “go to Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Muggle London, where ever you like. Just go out and get some fresh air. I think it will help to clear your head.” Harry frowned, apprehensive to leave Remus alone, especially after the latest Red Moon debacle. Belatedly, he wondered if it was even a brilliant idea for _him_ to go off alone. Remus seemed to sense Harry's reluctance and spoke again.

“I don't think you need to worry about Red Moon going after you, not in full view of the public, anyway. They're not suicidal enough to try anything like that, I think you'll be perfectly safe,” Remus's reassurances did little to put Harry's mind at ease, his worry more focused on leaving Remus alone than his own safety. Again, it was almost as though Remus was reading his mind, and filled in the empty air with more reassurances.

“I'll be fine. I think it would be good for you to have some time to yourself.”

Harry was quiet for a long time before he finally nodded, though privately he had no idea how wandering around somewhere other than Grimmauld Place would be in any way helpful.

  

~*~

 

The following day, Harry took the Floo to The Leaky Cauldron, dressed in his muggle winter jacket over a jumper and his favourite jeans. He offered a quick nod and smile to Tom before heading on to Diagon Alley.

Once Harry had stepped through the archway, he found that he was at a loss for what to do. He wasn't much of a shopper and there wasn't anything he particularly needed, and he was doubtful that Remus's suggestion of going out just to _go out_ with no particular purpose would actually make him feel better.

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Harry strode forward, looking around the Alley as he went. He spotted a couple ex-classmates and even a few teachers wandering in and out of the shops, but he didn't stop to speak to anyone, and it seemed as though they did not notice him.

For lack of anything better to do, he headed down to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the moment he stepped inside George's jovial cry sounded over the bustle of the shop.

“Harry! So good to see you!” The redhead hurried over and clapped Harry on the shoulder, hard enough that his knees buckled a little, then with a grin, he steered Harry towards the back of the shop.

“C'mon, tea,” he said firmly, “Lee can mind the shop,” he nodded to his friend, and Lee Jordan offered Harry a grin in greeting. Harry found himself in George's office before he'd managed to say more than two words to the older Weasley.

There were still two desks in the little office, but no one talked about it. Three chairs, one of which carried a layer of dust on it, though no one needed to ask why. No one dared bring it up, and Lee's own office was built into the back room, and no one dared comment on it. George left the door to the office wide open, and Harry suspected he'd heard about everything that had happened with Ron and Hermione. Harry was rather glad of this, as he didn't fancy falling into an anxiety attack in front of George.

“So,” George began, pushing a cup of tea into Harry's hands as he sat down, his jovial smile sobering up a little. “Ron tells me you've been put through the ringer over the last month or so.”

“That'd be putting it lightly,” Harry said with a snort, eyeing the cup in his hands dubiously.

“Relax, it's not hexed. I save those for when Percy comes round,” George grinned as Harry barked a laugh, and took a small sip. When his skin didn't immediately turn purple, he didn't start speaking in rhyming couplets, and/or he didn't turn into a giant blueberry, he relaxed a little, and George helped himself to a cup as well. “Ron told me the short version, but it's actually true, you're with Remus? Like, with-with?”

Harry looked up at George, rather surprised by the direct question. Given that he seemed to know at least _some_ of what had been going on with him of late, Harry would have expected him to have more tact than that. Harry was more used to Ron's direct approach to asking personal questions than George, and as a result it caught him off-guard.

“Yeah, er, sort of, er...It's a bit complicated,” Harry winced, “think we could lay off the tough questions for a while? Have you been working on anything new?” George seemed to cotton on quickly to the fact that Harry really wasn't keen to discuss his personal life, and with a grin he pulled out a large wooden crate from the cupboard. George showed him some of the merchandise that he nearly had ready for the public, not even mentioning Harry's incarceration at Hermione's hands, for which he was grateful. He definitely wasn't ready to discuss it, and George showing off his half-finished prototype inventions he'd been working on with Lee made for a great distraction from his personal problems.

 

Around lunchtime there was a rush of customers and Harry left George to it, feeling lighter than he had in days. Perhaps there was some truth to Remus's suggestion after all, Harry thought as he walked past a number of newer shops that had popped up following the war, including _Smith's Quality Wizardwear,_ Zacharias Smith's high-fashion and grossly overpriced shop. It had been doing rather well, or so Hermione told him, but he still thought the Hufflepuff was a bit of a prat.

Right next to it was Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Harry made the quick that checking out the new broom models would be a good way to pass the time. His thoughts were still clouded with his ongoing personal and professional troubles, even after the light chat he'd had with George, and he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he wasn't watching where he was going. As a result, he walked right into the witch ahead of him, nearly knocking her over.

“Oh, sorry, I—Ginny?”

It took Harry a moment for it to register, and Ginny appeared as surprised as he was. They both opened and closed their mouths several times in an effort to find the right words to say, and the silence stretched between them while disgruntled shoppers circled around the pair, grumbling audibly about ' _inconsiderate young people_ ' in passing.

“Hi Harry,” she said at last, and the tension broke as they both laughed, but it was a painfully awkward sound, and they both quickly stopped. 

“Doing shopping, I guess?” He strove to keep his tone light, and Harry was glad to see that she did not appear to be distressed by his presence. He silently hoped that it wasn't her 'brave face' at work that she'd used so often in the past, but Harry thought her relaxed smile seemed genuine.

“Er—yeah. A bit. You?”

“Just out, so not really,” Harry paused, noticing how her eyes were flitting all over the shop, and at once Harry could guess what she was looking for.

“He's not here, he's at home.” Harry's stomach twisted with guilt at the words, and did not miss the brief flash of hurt that crossed Ginny's face. It had barely been four months after all—it was hardly enough time to _completely_ get over someone.

“Oh. Um... I mean, I have some stuff I need to finish up, but maybe after we can meet and talk? As friends, of course,” Harry almost laughed at her words. Beyond the fact that doing anything would be a monumentally _bad_ idea, Harry realized that he also had no desire to. His thoughts strayed momentarily to Remus, and he smiled at the warmth that pooled in his stomach.

“I'd like that,” Harry said, and she smiled brightly.

After agreeing on a time and place, the pair went their separate ways, and Harry forced his attention back to the Quidditch supplies he'd gone in to peruse in the first place. Ginny hurried out of the store, turning back once to offer him a short wave before she disappeared into the crowd.

The Quidditch shop didn't hold his attention for nearly as long as Harry had hoped, and he wound up wandering up and down the Alley, looking for something to occupy his time until he had to go meet up with Ginny. His thoughts strayed back to Remus as he walked, the man was still a source of great confusion for him. It was dizzying to both fear and want to be close to the same person, and after yesterday, Harry hoped that the fear was finally beginning to recede. It certainly seemed so, but Harry wasn't completely convinced of that fact.

 

The little café where they'd chosen to meet, _Café Noisette,_ was situated next to Florean Forescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It was a step up from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Hogsmeade, and though Harry had never been inside before, he found that it had a warm atmosphere and he did not feel nearly as out of place as he thought he would.

Little round tables made of some kind of dark wood dotted the floor space, and cozy booths lined the edges of the place. The light brown walls were far from bland, and in fact reminded Harry of café au lait. The café smelt of good coffee and some sort of sweet pastry, though Harry had no idea what kind. He felt at ease in the space, and Harry understood at once why Ginny had picked it. He went up to the counter and paid one galleon and four knuts for a plain black coffee and chocolate-dipped biscotti (the barista politely flustered at the idea of serving _Harry freaking Potter,_ much to Harry's chagrin).

Harry picked one of the booths away from the main hustle and bustle of the café and he sipped his coffee while he waited. He bent his head forward a little after he saw the barista that had served him excitedly relaying the news of his presence to her coworkers. It wasn't hard to work out that he was the topic of their conversation, as a moment later he caught the two other workers craning their necks as they tried to get a good look at him.

Harry didn't wait very long, and lifted his hand in a half wave to ensure that Ginny saw him, and she nodded once before heading up to the counter herself.

Ginny joined him at the booth less than five minutes later, a large wrapped package under one arm and a steaming coffee in her opposite hand. She stowed her package next to her on the cushioned seat, and blew on the surface of her drink while Harry tried to come up with something to say.

“So—er—how _have_ you been doing?” Harry winced at how lame it sounded, but while Ginny sipped her coffee she appeared unruffled by the awkward question.

“Pretty well,” she smiled, and it looked as though she meant it. “I never got to tell you, things were a little mad that day, but...I made it.” Her mouth split into a wide grin, and Harry knew at once she meant the Quidditch trial she'd been to on that fateful day.

“Ginny Weasley, playing for the Holyhead Harpies,” Harry grinned when she flushed an attractive shade of pink at his words. “That's amazing Ginny, really. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, “it's been keeping me busy at any rate. Mum's not thrilled with _Witch Weekly_ though, Rita wrote a rather nasty article about how I only got the position because I was seeing you...Well, _sleeping_ with you, actually.”

“Well _that's_ a load of rubbish,” Harry rolled his eyes, proud that he managed to keep himself from flushing at the implication. He had never been comfortable with anyone discussing his sex life, least of all the press. “Since when does Quidditch have _anything_ to do with that?”

“No idea. I ignored it, of course. Ron (Harry cringed a little at the mention of his best mate, but Ginny didn't seem to notice) and I _did_ have to spend a lot of time trying to convince her that the articles about you and your, er, _situation_ were exaggerations, too. Rita's out of control right now, it's mad.”

“That must've been a fun conversation,” Harry mused, smiling when Ginny actually giggled.

“Her heart's in the right place, you know Mum. She's just worried, that's all.” Ginny paused, and eyed Harry curiously while he busied himself with his own coffee, effectively burning his tongue in his haste. He could practically see the question in the look she gave him, and he wasn't disappointed when she vocalized it.

“I did hear that you two were having some... _difficulties_...is everything all right?” At her words Harry paused, and stared down into the cup. It was almost like the Fates were insisting he share his troubles with one Weasley or another, given that Ginny was the second of her siblings to ask about Remus over the course of the same day. He didn't want her to worry unnecessarily, he _couldn't_ tell her what had caused _the incident_ , but he didn't want to lie to her, either.

“It was just before the last full moon before Christmas,” Harry began in a soft tone, unable to look up as he spoke. “Remus, he, well, something happened and he went a little crazy,” Harry shivered a little; even after two months, it was difficult to discuss in detail.

“Crazy?” Ginny's eyes widened with fear, “Harry, he didn't—”

“—No, he didn't,” Harry said quickly, cutting her off. “He got rough with me, scared the hell out of me, and I kicked him in the jewels and took off.” He looked up, knowing full well that he was flushed red, feeling utterly pathetic that such a thing had happened to him.

“Oh Harry, and now...?” Ginny reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. He flinched, the sudden contact startling him, but he didn't pull away. After the initial shock wore off he found himself welcoming the offered comfort willingly, and he was momentarily amazed at how he was able to accept it. It was so easy to hold onto Ginny, while with Remus the action made him feel like he was about to walk across hot coals. Even after all the progress he'd made, Remus still made him nervous.

“I—I tried to go back to him a few days later but...” Harry trailed off and grimaced, and based on the way her hand tightened around his, he had a feeling that Ron had filled her in on the nightmare that followed.

“After I got out I went back home. We got all that stuff with Ron and Hermione sorted, but it's still awkward as hell,” Harry looked away as he glossed over the _Ron and Hermione Incident,_ and was pleased that Ginny didn't push him to discuss it.

“I mean,” he continued, “it's not completely his fault, but it...it really scared me.” Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, and before he could stop it, a single tear dripped down his cheek. He yanked back his hand with a curse, and roughly wiped away the physical evidence of his own weakness. Ginny didn't wait, but stood up and circled the booth, sat next to him, and dragged Harry into a bone-crushing hug. Harry clung to her, burying his face him her shoulder as he trembled with anguish. Shame, misery, and terror overwhelmed him all at once, and his mind was too overwhelmed to even summon enough panic to react to the sudden contact. Even if he hadn't been so upset at that moment, he didn't think he'd freak out at a hug from Ginny. At least, he hoped not.

“It's okay Harry,” Ginny murmured, letting him hide his sudden surge of emotion from the café's other patrons in her embrace. He shivered in her arms, and for the first time since it had happened, Harry allowed himself to finally _feel_ the hurt Remus had caused him.

After several minutes they parted and Ginny returned to her side of the booth, while Harry pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

“I'm sorry,” he said thickly, “I didn't mean to fall apart like that.” Much to his surprise, Ginny reached across the table and swatted his shoulder.

“Don't play the B.S. Macho act with me, Harry Potter. Contrary to what you've been led to believe, boys _are_ allowed to cry,” she glared at him, her eyes blazing, all but daring him to contradict her. “You experienced something horrible at the hands of someone you trusted. I can't even _begin_ to imagine how hard that must've been for you. So cry, you ridiculous man. Get it out of your system, let yourself heal, and move forward.”

At the end of her lecture, Harry couldn't help but grin. No one could give him a hard time like Ginny Weasley could. He realized then with absolute certainty that while he still missed her in many ways, his heart had moved on. Harry didn't know if it was the magic of the bond at work or not, but his love for Ginny had dimmed to the same kind of love he felt for Ron and Hermione. It seemed that she shared this sentiment, and as Harry calmed down, they fell into easy, familiar conversation.

 

“I better get going,” Harry said after checking his watch sometime later and found that they'd been in the café for almost two hours. “I'm gonna tell Remus straight off that I ran into you, so that he doesn't pull the jealous werewolf routine, also just in case our picture ends up in one magazine or another.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Ginny said with a small laugh, this time at the mention of Remus she did not seem hurt by Harry's reference to him. “Somehow, I think a certain reporter we both know would be all too happy to turn our innocent little coffee chat into some torrid love triangle.”

“I could sneeze in your general direction and she'd use it as an excuse to turn our lives into a torrid love triangle.” Ginny threw her head back and barked a laugh, and she was still giggling as they both stood to say goodbye. They hugged, perhaps a little more tightly than was necessary, and pulled apart wearing matching smiles upon their faces.

“I'm really glad I ran into you,” Harry said, meaning it. “I really needed this so...thank you. But you're okay? Really?” He watched for some show that perhaps she was being strong for him, or some other rubbish that she pulled when things got difficult, but Ginny merely smiled and nodded her head.

“I'm okay Harry, _really,”_ Ginny said earnestly, “I mean, I'm not jumping for joy, but I'm getting there. Seeing you like this, it was nice. I mean, nice to know we can go back to being friends without it being...y'know, _too_ awkward.” Harry chuckled a little as she grinned, falling in step alongside her as they headed out onto the bustling street.

“I want to do this again,” Harry said as they walked, “when you feel more okay with everything.” He hoped he wasn't being too pushy, but beyond missing Ginny in a girlfriend way, he realized that he also missed her in a friends way as well.

“I do too. Seeing you like this has helped more than I thought it would, sort of, cleared the air, I guess?” Ginny said, her eyes shining with genuine, unhindered happiness. It had been a while since he'd seen her look like that, and he was glad that she could still smile, after everything he'd put her through.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Harry agreed as they walked, falling into companionable silence, nothing needing to be said. When they reached the Leaky Cauldron he bid Ginny a heartfelt goodbye, and when the fire shifted back to its usual red and orange, he took his turn stepping into the flames.

  

~*~

 

Harry tumbled out of the fire in a heap, grunting as he faceplanted spectacularly on the hearth. He sat up with a groan, tapping his glasses with his wand to mend them before wiping the soot off the lenses with the hem of his jumper. Harry looked up, and he found that he wasn't even startled when he saw Remus hovering near the entryway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as though he had no idea what to do with himself. He looked more agitated than usual, and Harry was certain that the werewolf could smell George and Ginny all over him. One look at the older man told Harry that he was likely trying to keep himself from reacting to the scent.

Harry however felt lighter than he had in days, and he was only just beginning to realize just what his afternoon chat with Ginny had actually done. He'd faced the primary source of his depression, his hurt at what had happened. Bond or no bond, he had finally addressed the proverbial elephant in the room, and while things were still far from perfect or 'fixed', he no longer felt as though his relationship with Remus was beyond repair.

Harry stood up and brushed the soot off his clothes, then stepped over to Remus. He ignored the look of surprise in Remus's eyes as he slipped his hand into the older man's and gave it a small squeeze. Like the previous day, a thrill of excitement ran through Harry at the contact, and he felt very little anxiety at Remus's touch.

“I bumped into Ginny while I was in Diagon Alley,” Harry explained, pausing when he felt Remus tense. “Honestly, it was a complete fluke, and it's the first time we've seen each other since everything happened.” As he spoke, he gently tugged the werewolf into the the sitting room.

Remus followed Harry's lead, and Harry slipped his hand out of Remus's once they'd reached the sofa, taking a seat at one end and folded his legs under him comfortably. Remus took the hint that there was only so much Harry was ready for, and sat at the opposite end. The corners of Harry's mouth twitched into a small half-smile when he noticed the hopeful glimmer in Remus's eyes.

“You were saying you bumped into Miss Weasley...then?” Harry chuckled a little at the undertones of worry in Remus's voice, which he tried to cover up with curiosity. Harry knew the jealous worry was more of a werewolf thing than anything else and encouraged further by their bond, and Harry did his best to ignore it while he began to explain.

“Yeah, we ran into each other at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and we agreed to meet up later and talk. _Just_ talk, no matter what Rita Skeeter might publish in the near future, just so you know.” Remus chuckled softly, and Harry grinned a little. It had been a long time since he'd heard Remus laugh.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, shifting a little to bring his knees up to his chest, loosely wrapping his arms around them as he spoke, “we met up at this café and we talked. She sort of prompted me on what happened...y'know...before the full moon.” They both went silent, and Harry saw Remus tense. He pushed forward before the silence could get too awkward.

“It all came out, except for a few...er, details that would upset her. But she sort of, like, made me deal with it? I kind of fell apart on her, and she gave me a hard time about doing the brave face thing. It helped a lot more than I thought it world; made me face up to my demons, you know?”

“Which would explain your enthusiastic hand-holding,” Remus mused, smiling faintly as he looked over at Harry. Harry felt the colour rise in his cheeks under Remus's watchful eye, but couldn't manage a proper verbal response. Instead, he smiled.

  

~*~

  

After three weeks (and one full moon) away from the office, Harry was thrilled when it was finally time for him to return. He was still of the mind that making him take a Medical Leave had been wholly unnecessary, but it had given him and Remus an opportunity to re-bond, and at long last, things seemed to be actually improving between them, albeit extremely slowly.

Harry's good mood lasted only until he reached his desk, when Caldwell dropped three file folders onto it.

“What're these?” Harry asked cautiously, opening the first one and at once he felt his blood run cold.

“The latest Red Moon murders, and as an added bonus our favourite Red Moon head honcho is back in the country,” Caldwell said, a lilt of sarcasm to her voice, “he was last spotted by one of our agents in Edinburgh,” she continued, glaring down at the file folder in Harry's hands.

Harry stared at the picture attached to the file. A broad, neanderthal-like face with long red hair pulled back in a braid, dark blue eyes glaring into the camera. The photograph did not accurately show the man's size, but Harry could still remember the last time he'd faced off with Brom Taggert, a man who would make Paul Bunyan look short.

Taggert was vicious, and had disappeared last summer without a trace. He had been behind dozens of gruesome werewolf murders, the remains of his victims often little more than a red smear and a pile of viscera. It was no secret that Taggert took great pleasure in the torture of his victims, a fact made clear when they'd found one of his hideouts the previous May. It had been filled with skinned werewolves—both in human and wolf form—and over a dozen heads of scalped hair.

“These,” Caldwell said as she motioned to the two folders beneath the first, “are the latest werewolf ritual murders. We're up to ten, and assuming our guesses are correct, they only need two more before all hell breaks loose.”

“I wish you had called me back in early,” Harry muttered, opening the two other files to have a quick look at the crime scene photographs. Both showed pairs of bodies in varying stages of decay, and Harry felt his breakfast churn in his stomach unpleasantly.

“These were only discovered in the last few days,” Caldwell replied, and edge of annoyance to her words. “You needed the time away Potter, you would have been no help to anyone if you were still in a stat over what happened. As for these murders...Potter, given that your partner is a werewolf, I would like to ask you if you could see about bringing him in on the case.” Harry froze, surprised by the request, and unsettled by the fact that the words were voiced like a question, Caldwell's tone made it clear that it was an order.

“All right...may I ask why?” Harry swallowed nervously. The last thing he wanted was to bring Remus within ten feet of anything involving Red Moon.

“I'm not asking you to put your partner in unnecessary danger,” she said patiently, clearly sensing his concern “I would simply like you to ask him if there is a way for us to track the local werewolf populations, find out where they are so that we can warn them about what is going on.” Harry felt himself relax a little at her words. At least she wasn't asking him to make Remus do something dangerous. While he doubted that Remus would know such a thing, he figured that he'd best humour her, at least for the moment.

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to sound more confident than he felt, “I can do that.”


	17. Baby Steps

Chapter 17 – Baby Steps

 

Over his first week back at the office, Harry's home life seemed to fluctuate between _almost normal_ and something akin to _ye Gods_. At the same time, Caldwell's task she'd set him hovered at the back of his mind, but he struggled to find a good opening to actually _ask_ Remus. There never seemed to be a right time, what with everything else that seemed to be going on, and it was no secret how Remus felt about his werewolf side. The last thing he wanted to do was make things _more_ strained, when things were already so tense between them.

Harry was extremely frustrated with himself as he tried to work at feeling comfortable with Remus again. He could hold the man's hand, it was a start, but Harry was so deeply angry at himself and his own weakness, and more than once he wished that he could just _force_ himself to get better faster.

The first Saturday after returning to work, Harry was sitting up in bed at mid-morning, fiddling with the slightly frayed edge of the duvet, lost in thought. It was a far cry from the depression he'd suffered following everything that had happened with Ron and Hermione, and as a result it seemed that Remus was quite content to let him get up in his own time, rather than put Kreacher up to dragging him out of bed again.

 _I just want to be better,_ Harry thought miserably while he stared at the blanket, and clenched his eyes shut as a wave of misery washed over him. The repetitive thought passed through his mind for what felt like the hundredth time in as many weeks, but he still felt no closer to actually _feeling_ better. His fingers tensed around the fabric, _Why is this so bloody hard?_

With no solutions coming to him, he rolled out of bed and prepared to face the day ahead.

 

The day passed in a haze for Harry, no activity holding his attention for more than a few minutes at a time. When dinnertime rolled around, Harry felt as though the day had flown past him, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so unproductive. At the same time, Caldwell's request had been festering in his mind as he tried to come up with a tactful way to speak to Remus about it. In the end, he decided that simply blurting it out would be his best option.

“I forgot to mention,” Harry said, breaking the dinnertime quiet, “my supervisor wanted me to ask you about getting your—er, _werewolf expertise_ on the Red Moon case.” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek nervously as Remus glanced up, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline in surprise.

 “What sort of expertise?” There was a defensive edge to his words, and Harry frowned a little, swallowing thickly in an effort to keep himself calm as he ploughed forward.

“The death toll is up to twenty-one—ten double murders and one werewolf murdered under the full moon. We're pretty sure we know what Red Moon is up to, and we need to find werewolves romantically involved with a human. If we're right, Red Moon are planning to seek out at least two more couples. My supervisor wanted to know if you're able to track other werewolves, so that we can warn them and offer protection...that is, if they'll let us.”

Following Harry's speech, Remus was quiet. He brought his wineglass to his lips, and swirled the dark red liquid. He stared at it for a long moment before he took a sip. Harry waited quietly, and after a long pause, Remus responded.

“It's highly unlikely that any werewolf—solitary or in a pack—will accept help from the Ministry. The Ministry has spent too much time persecuting werewolves, and the pro-werewolf legislation is still too new for many to change their view of the Ministry so soon,” Remus said with a small frown. He set aside the wineglass and steepled his fingers, lost in thought.

“I'm not as in tune with my abilities as others of my kind,” Remus continued, a bitter edge to his words. The sound of it made Harry wonder if Remus regretted fighting so hard against what he was, or if the negative feelings stemmed from something else. “As far as I know, only Alpha wolves are able to track others of our kind the way you want to,” he said, pausing and regarding Harry curiously before he spoke again. “If I may ask, what do you suspect Red Moon is up to?”

“We believe they're trying to construct a _Nexbolus_ geared towards werewolves,” Harry said in a rush, hoping the words would have less impact if he spoke quickly, and he watched as Remus went very white.

“I—I see...” Harry watched the older man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly, and he cradled his chin against the heel of his hand. “And I thought I saw the pinnacle of madness with the Lestranges...” Harry smiled weakly, and watched Remus worriedly. No matter how level-headed Remus was compared to how the other Marauders had been, Harry felt as though assuming he wouldn't do anything rash was something of a fool's hope.

“I want you to promise me to not leave the house alone, at least not until this is resolved,” Harry said firmly, Remus's eyes widening a little in surprise at Harry's tone. It was similar to the _no arguments_ voice he'd used on Harry barely two weeks earlier, and the sound of it seemed to shock Remus into silence.

“I can't—I don't want anything to happen to you,” Harry continued, and Remus smiled, that familiar, hopeful look sparkling in his eyes. Harry felt the familiar warmth pool in the pit of his stomach, that longing for the relationship they'd hand—the one they were trying to rebuild. Remus reached across the table and gave Harry's hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I promise, Harry.”

 

The couple retired to the sitting room following dinner, Harry reaching for Remus's hand and allowed their fingers to tangle together as they walked. Like every other time over the last couple of days, Harry felt a surge of joy envelop him when his first reaction was not to run from the contact.

They separated as they reached the sofa, and Harry helped himself to a cuppa, while Remus did the same. They sat at the opposite ends, Harry curled up with the warm mug balanced on his knee and held in place by his hands on either side of it.

Harry looked up from his mug and over to Remus. He wasn't watching Harry for a change, but was focused almost meditatively on the fire in the grate, crackling merrily in the grate while rain misted against the window. Harry suspected Remus's thoughts were on what he'd told him over dinner, and Harry felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Guilt because he hated that he had to be the bearer of such bad news, and fear because the idea of losing Remus was not something he was able to wrap his head around without feeling like he might be sick.

They sat in silence for a while, both drinking their tea and lost in their own minds. Harry's thoughts had strayed back to his burning desire to prove to Remus that he was better—that he _wasn't_ broken, and he drained his cup before he took the plunge.

“Remus?” Harry winced at how small his voice sounded. He reached forward to set his mug on the table as the older man turned to look at him.

“What is it Harry?” Harry winced at the guarded tone to Remus's voice, and he wondered if the werewolf part of him could sense his uncertainty.

“Will you...um,” Harry felt a flush creep up his neck; _why was this so hard?_ “Will you kiss me?”

Whatever Remus had been expecting, it wasn't that. His teacup slipped from his fingers, and he hissed as the hot liquid spread across the thigh of his trousers, and the cup tumbled to the ground, shattering on impact. Harry winced, and watched Remus clean up the mess and repair the cup with a few quick waves of his wand, then he looked at Harry with a frown. Harry didn't understand the expression; didn't Remus want this, want _him_? Harry thought he'd be thrilled.

“No, Harry,” Remus said firmly after he'd recovered from his shock at the request. The negation caught Harry off guard, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock.

“But...why? I thought this is what you wanted,” Harry grimaced as his voice cracked; _why_ was Remus rejecting him now? Remus edged forward cautiously, as if a sudden movement would cause Harry to bolt, and he carefully took both of Harry's hands in his own.

“I _do_ Harry, more than anything,” Remus murmured, squeezing Harry's hands gently. “But you aren't ready for that, I can see it. I don't want to push you—”

“How can you be pushing me if I'm the one who asked for it?” Harry asked desperately, his hands tightening in Remus's. “ _Please_ Remus, I need to get over this...Please, help me,” Harry's voice softened to just above a whisper, but the older man still looked doubtful. Harry went quiet, but his hands were still clutching onto Remus, eyes wide as he silently begged him.

Ever so slowly, Remus caved to Harry's request. He still looked reluctant to do as Harry had asked as he slipped his left hand from Harry's and moved it to cradle the back of Harry's neck with featherlight touches. Each movement was so slow and cautious, Remus's eyes watching him carefully—watching for what, Harry didn't know.

Remus inched forward, and at long last Harry felt lips lightly brush against his own.

Before Harry knew what was happening, his world went black.

  

~*~

 

It was dark, but a peaceful dark, and not a frightening, oppressive dark. It could very well be the middle of the night, and Harry was safe in his own bed. The black was broken by a pinprick of white light, and it quivered, before it began to slowly grow in size.

Harry reached for the little light, blinked, and it suddenly became blinding. Harry winced, and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he was suddenly aware of a hand carding through his hair, his throat felt raw, and Remus was hovering over him, face lined with worry.

“What...what happened?” Harry croaked, and he hand in his hair stilled. It was at that moment that Harry realized his hair was damp with sweat. What _happened?_ Harry groaned, panic and confusion churning in his stomach as he tried to work out what had happened, but it was as though there was a chunk cut from his memory. One moment he and Remus were kissing, and the next he was on his back.

“You had a panic attack,” Remus murmured softly, “after I—you collapsed and started screaming,” Remus's voice trembled as he spoke, eyes wide with horror as he recounted to Harry what happened. Harry frowned as he listened, deeply unsettled by the fact that he could remember none of it. “Then you went still...I moved you to the sofa and...You've been out for almost three hours.”

The disjointed, trembling voice that accompanied the explanation made Harry feel sick. He felt tears prick his eyes and he turned his head away, feeling utterly pathetic. How was he supposed to function, how was he supposed to go forward with his life if he fell apart so easily? It wasn't like a Patronus Charm could fix this, it wasn't a Dementor making Harry lose it this time—it was his own mind working against him.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said hoarsely, still unable to look at Remus, crouched next to the sofa and watching him with that same wide-eyed, terrified stare. “I—I want to be better, I'm just so tired of feeling like this...”

“You won't always feel like this Harry,” Remus murmured soothingly, but the reassurance felt empty to him; if he couldn't handle something as simple as a kiss, how would he ever manage to be everything he wanted to be for Remus? “This is...it's a moment in time. Whether it takes you a week, a month, or a year, you will one day feel like yourself again. Until then, you need to be patient with _you._ You can't force yourself to recover, you need to do it at a pace that feels right for you.”

“I wish I knew what that _was_ ,” Harry mumbled miserably, rolling on his side to look up at the older man. He was still very pale, clearly shaken by Harry's violent reaction to the gentle kiss. Harry could still feel him on his lips, so starkly different from the last time they'd kissed. That had been bruising force and mad dominance, this had been delicate and reluctant. Even with such a huge difference, it wasn't enough to quell the anxiety and misery that all but consumed him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry hissed, pressing his fingertips into the corners of his eyes, struggling to stave off the tears. He didn't even know _why_ he was crying exactly. When had he gotten so _weak_?

“Harry,” Remus's gentle voice broke through his haze of self-loathing, and he stilled. “Harry,” Remus said again, a callused thumb brushing lightly against Harry's cheekbone, and when he did not start to panic, Remus very gently extricated Harry's hands away from his face, and tilted his chin up so that Harry was forced to look at him. He was certain he looked awful, eyelashes clinging together and the skin around his bottom eyelids wet with his tears. Harry could not remember the last time he felt so vulnerable, so exposed.

“You don't need to force yourself to feel better,” he said in a firm but gentle tone of voice, “you need to take a step back and let things happen naturally. Do things you want to, not what you _think_ you're ready for, or what you think you need to force yourself to experience. A push like that won't help you, only hinder you. Do you understand?” Remus released Harry's jaw and his head slumped forward a little, and he could still feel the imprint of the older man's hands on his face.

“I understand,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, though he did not feel reassured by Remus's sentiment. He wanted to be better _now._ He was so tired of being patient.

“Come on,” Remus said suddenly, gripping Harry's bicep gently and easing him into a sitting position. “You should sleep, we can discuss this more in the morning, if you like.”

Too tired to argue, Harry stood with Remus's help and ambled up the stairs, the older man pausing outside Harry's bedroom door, and he made it the rest of the way to his bed on his own. Still fully dressed, he collapsed onto the soft mattress and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

Harry woke the following morning feeling groggy and grimy, and he fumbled through his morning rituals in a half-asleep daze. Harry had not even realized he'd made it downstairs until he felt hot ceramic being pressed into his hands. He looked up blinking bemusedly, and found Remus standing before him with a small smile on his face.

“Come on, coffee first, then we can talk. I have an idea for you,” without any further explanation he turned and led Harry to the table, Harry nursing the strong coffee as he went.

“Books for breakfast?” Harry asked as he sat down, staring across the table at the stack of thick tomes next to Remus's empty plate. Harry set down the cup and grabbed some toast and the marmalade.

“Very funny,” Remus smirked, and pulled his own coffee cup towards him, the stained rings inside the partially drunk cup gave Harry the impression that it had been refilled multiple times. Did Remus sleep at _all_ last night?

“I've been doing some reading,” he said, “after what you said last night, I've been trying to figure out a way to help you, er—move forward, so to speak. I know you want to, but I don't want to do anything that might make things worse.”

Harry couldn't help but smile a little as he listened. So far, most people had been dismissive of everything that had happened, leaving Harry to heal in his own time. In contrast, Remus had taken Harry's desire to heal in a more proactive way to heart, and had done something _for_ Harry. It was technically for him too, but if Remus really wanted he didn't have to do any of what he had been doing, and it warmed Harry's heart.

“What have you come up with, then?” Harry nibbled at his toast in an effort to mask his apprehension at what Remus's answer may be. He trusted him, but at the same time he couldn't help but be a little nervous. The point was for them to reach a level of comfortable intimacy again, but after the previous evening, Harry had his doubts that he would ever get there.

“There's no need to look so nervous Harry, I'm not proposing we play Master of Pain this evening or anything like that,” Remus said, chuckling when Harry went bright red. “There are particular...er, triggers, I believe is the term that will hinder your recovery, based around the specific details of what happened,” he continued, his voice dropping a little, and his perfectly academic tone of voice wavering as guilt flashed across his face.

“You mean like...kissing, touching my wrists, things like that?” Harry asked hesitantly, while Remus nodded. Harry grimaced; he _hated_ this, he just wanted to jump ahead to things being normal again.

“What do you suggest, then?” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Remus, unease beginning to pool in his stomach.

“I propose we move things forward, but with contact you don't associate with the... _incident,”_ Harry smirked a little at Remus's choice of word, somewhat amused by the fact that he'd been referring to it the same way. “I think it might be a good idea to have an—er, safe word. If you get overwhelmed and need to stop, just say it, and I will.”

“But will you?” Harry had blurted out the words before he was able to completely think them through, and he watched Remus lower his gaze, his neutral expression crumbling. “Oh, damn it, Remus, I—”

“No, that was fair,” he said softly, still not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry didn't feel like it was very fair, but didn't say anything as Remus continued. “We'll only do this if you feel completely ready for it. I won't push you into anything, not again.”

Before Harry had the chance to formulate a response, Remus was on his feet and he stepped out of the room.

 

Harry spent the better part of the day alone and lost in thought. He'd said many times he wanted things to return to normal, but now that he was faced with a partial solution, Harry found himself faltering. What if he couldn't do it? What if he blacked out again? What if he was completely incapable of being close with anyone ever again? What if? _What if?_ He shook his head in an effort to dispel the long string of worries, but they refused to leave his mind so easily.

A shout of frustration escaped him before he could stop it, and Harry buried his fingers in his hair. He was so _sick_ of being scared all the time.

Harry looked up, but Remus hadn't come running at his cry. The crackle of the dying fire was the only other sound in the room and for a brief moment, Harry felt almost suffocated by a sudden flash of loneliness. The one time in recent memory he wanted— _needed_ Remus close by, and it happened to be the one time he'd made himself scarce. Harry laughed bitterly at the irony. 

 

~*~

 

“I've come to a decision,” Harry said over dinner that evening, setting down his knife and fork in the bloody juices left on his plate by the rare steak.

“Oh?” Remus met his gaze, and Harry did not miss the hopeful look he saw there.

“I want to try,” he said, wincing when his voice trembled. “I'm scared shitless, but I need to try, if I can't...you'll stop, right?”

“I will Harry,” he replied gently, smiling as he spoke. “That time...I was half mad by the moon. _This_ time, my mind is my own.”

“I don't...” Harry trailed off, thinking of how to best phrase what he wanted to say. “I think we should cool it near to the full moon,” he said, and relaxed when he saw no hint of hurt on Remus's face.

“I agree,” Remus replied with a nod, “until the bond is fully settled my state of mind leading up to the moon is...unpredictable.”

Harry felt himself flush before he could stop it; he knew exactly what would settle the bond more quickly, but there was no way he was even remotely ready for _that_.

His appetite was completely gone by the time Kreacher cleared the dinner dishes and served them shortcake with strawberries and fresh cream. The out of season berries were bitter, and after a few bites Harry had to push it away, his stomach tied up in knots.

“Harry,” Remus's soft voice made Harry's head snap up sharply as though the older man had shouted. “We don't have to do this. If you feel you're not ready...”

“—No,” Harry said, cutting across Remus's reassurances. “Remus, I _have_ to do this,” he said, his tone forceful and earnest. “It's a step towards how things used to be, and I miss that...that _closeness_ ,” and he did, despite his reservations, his unconscious and conscious fears, in spite of _everything,_ he desperately missed what they'd had.

It was only after Harry had said it that he realized he hadn't told Remus any of this. At least, not in so many words. He'd come close, but this was the first time he'd admitted how much he'd missed being close to someone. There was an intimacy in it that had little to do with sex, and he longed to be okay enough to have it again—whatever the cost.

The reaction to his words was instantaneous, and a small, hopeful smile spread across Remus's face. It was such a small expression that most might dismiss it, but after all they'd gone through over the last few months, it was the same as if Remus was beaming at him.

“All right Harry,” he said with a small nod, “but first, as silly as it sounds, pick your safe word.”

Remus's _Master of Pain_ remark from earlier came back to him and he felt himself go a little red. It seemed strange to need one when they weren't going to be doing anything naughty, but he understood why Remus wanted Harry to pick one.

“Quidditch,” Harry said, and Remus laughed.

“I should have seen that one coming,” he said, standing up from the table, still chuckling. Harry stood at the same time, and Remus extended his hand, Harry taking it almost at once. “Ready?” he asked, and it took all of Harry's self-control to keep the hysterical giggle lodged in his throat.

“No,” Harry said, though he was smiling. Remus seemed to understand the sentiment and led Harry towards the sitting room. Never before had it felt like Harry was stepping into a hungry tiger's den, and not his sitting room. Harry felt another flare of frustration at himself, but more than anything at that moment, his fear of the unknown—of whatever Remus was planning—was more scary to him than the actual act of any form of intimacy itself.

Remus led him to the sofa and sat down. A tea tray appeared on the table, but Remus's focus was entirely on Harry. He gave Harry's hand a small tug, “sit with me?” he asked, his tone of voice making it quite clear that if Harry wanted to, he could say no.

Harry sat. The outside of their thighs brushed together, and Harry tensed involuntarily, but Remus did nothing. He slipped his hand from Harry's and leaned forward to serve the tea, leaving Harry's straight, and drowning his own in an obscene amount of milk. He accepted the cup that Remus handed him, and he then coiled an arm around Harry's shoulders.

The embrace was loose, and Harry could feel the arm muscles that pressed into the back of his neck and shoulders were completely relaxed. Harry could get out of the hold quite easily if he wanted to. Despite the gentle hold, Harry's heart was pounding so hard and fast in his chest it almost felt as though he was vibrating.

They drank their tea in silence. Remus's arm remained still, warm against Harry's skin, and ever so slowly Harry began to relax.

“I wasn't expecting, well... _this_ , when you suggested what you did this morning,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rested his empty cup on the table.

“What did you think, I'd throw you down and snog you into oblivion?” Harry felt himself go red with embarrassment at the remark, but was relieved when Remus did not laugh at him.

“Baby steps, Harry,” he said after a moment, smiling at the younger man with that familiar look of cautious adoration. It was clear Remus _wanted_ to do more than this, but he was being patient with Harry, _for_ Harry. He never realized how much he appreciated it before now. “Because I suggested this doesn't mean we'll do anything you aren't ready for. We're back at the beginning, further back, in fact. I don't want you to be afraid of me, not again.”

Harry sat with Remus for a long time, until he admitted defeat against his drowsiness, lest he fall asleep _on_ Remus. He offered the older man's hand a gentle squeeze, the appendage lingering for a moment longer before he headed upstairs.


	18. Alpha

Chapter 18 – Alpha

 

Monday morning Harry felt as though he'd been torn in two.

It amazed him how he could feel two such strong, conflicting emotions simultaneously, and he was certain he would puke if he'd dared have any breakfast.

On the one hand, he was walking on air. He was overjoyed at how well the previous evening seemed to have gone, and and while over the last weeks it felt as though his and Remus's relationship was salvageable, last night had cemented it as an incontrovertible fact in his mind.

On the other hand, Harry was a step away from completely losing his head at the prospect of potentially running into Ron and Hermione, who were both due to return to work that day. He had repeatedly reminded himself that that _wasn't_ Ron and Hermione who had done those things to him, but a possessing force, but the rational self-talk did little to convince his mind of this.

He left that morning with a reassuring hand-squeeze from Remus, and the tingling imprint that seemed to cling to his hand buoyed him as he hurried to his office, early enough the he did not run into anyone on his way in.

“Morning Potter,” Caldwell said distractedly, looking up long enough to offer him a nod in greeting, then turned back to what she was doing, tacking up a photograph of Taggert next to a map of Scotland, then marking the map with potential places he might be. Stopping Red Moon's grand plan was of the utmost importance, but Taggert's presence in the country was too dangerous a threat to ignore.

“Did you do as I'd asked?” She asked while she turned back to her desk, flipping through the stack of files distractedly as she waited for his response. She'd asked him the same thing every workday since she put forward the 'request', and Harry was relieved that he could finally get her off his back on this topic.

“Yeah, he said he can't do it,” Harry frowned, “he said that only an Alpha werewolf has that kind of ability.”

“That's too bad,” she said, straightening up and frowning. “I don't suppose you know of any, do you?”

“Off the top of my head? No, none that I can think of,” Harry said, his tone apologetic. Caldwell huffed a sigh of frustration.

“We'll have to figure out something else, then,” she looked back down to the stack of files, and tugged one from the bottom and held it out to him, “feel like doing some field work today?”

Managing a weak smile, Harry snatched up the folder.

  

~*~

 

The morning in the field was refreshing, and Harry spent his time jumping from one minor case to the next, defusing tense domestic situations, relocating pissed off magical creatures (with the help of the Control of Magical Creatures office) and generally running from one minor disaster to the next.

By the time he'd gotten back to the office he was damp, sweaty, and exhausted. He was rather keen on showering and changing his clothes before anything else, but he froze when a familiar voice floated down the hall to him.

“Please Auror Caldwell, I just want to talk to him for a minute!” Hermione's voice rent through the air like a hot knife through butter, and Harry felt his breath catch and his vision warped.

“Miss Granger for the last time, he is not here,” Caldwell's voice carried an irritated edge to it, and Harry was sure that this was not the first time Hermione had come up to pester his supervisor.

“But I need—” Hermione's explanation was quickly cut off.

“I know what you _want,_ Miss Granger, it is _not_ what you need, and certainly not what Potter needs. We all understand that what happened was not your doing, but Potter has enough on his plate right now without you shadowing his footsteps, begging for forgiveness. Now, get out of my office. If I see you again, I will report you to your supervisor on the grounds of harassing a Ministry employee. Am I making myself clear?”

Harry heard Hermione make a sound that could have been a sob or a shout of anger—he wasn't certain. He sunk back into the shadows as she bolted past, and in her distressed state did not even see him. Rather shaken, he headed to the Auror changing rooms for a long shower.

 

Harry passed the remainder of the day at his desk, filling out reports for his various morning missions, and calling Kreacher to bring him some lunch so that he did not need to leave his office and thus risk running into Ron or Hermione. At the end of the workday, he rushed to the Atrium, and had almost made it to an available Floo when he heard someone call his name.

“Harry!”

A string of Uncle Vernon's choice expletives escaped him as he skidded to a halt and turned to face Hermione, who was rushing towards him. It took a great deal of effort to keep himself from bolting. He drew his wand, knuckles white, and he stared her down, fighting between the surge of memories that seeing her invoked, and the knowledge that what had happened wasn't her fault.

“What do you want Hermione?” He asked tiredly, his feet sliding almost unconsciously into a duelling stance as he braced himself for a fight.

“I just...I wanted to talk to you, and say how sorry I am about what happened—” Harry cut her off before she could go any further.

“I know,” he said, frowning at her, “you said this all before in your letters. I know you're sorry, all right? I _know_. I know it wasn't you, and I don't need you to repeat yourself,” Harry took a slow breath to calm himself before he continued. “I just need some time away from you and Ron. That means you're not to go pestering my supervisor when I'm otherwise occupied,” Harry smiled inwardly when she flushed at his words. “I just—I need you to leave me alone. I'll let you know if— _when_ I want to talk things over with you.”

Harry didn't give her the chance to respond, and rushed towards the available Floo.

 

Harry managed to make it out of the fire grate before he lost the battle with his stomach, and retched on the cold stone hearth. He groaned, shivering as his Auror robes clung to his skin with cold sweat, his stomach lurching violently in response to the mind-numbing fear seeing Hermione had caused. A large hand pressed gently into his lower back, and Harry knew at once that it was Remus..

He vanished the vomit and conjured a glass of water, pressing it into Harry's hands as he helped him up and walked him to the sofa.

Harry sat down heavily, wincing as he sipped the water gingerly, it burning as it slid down his abused œsophagus. He mopped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe, his breathing shaky as he fought to calm down. Remus sat at Harry's side in silence, his hand rubbing gentle circles against his lower back. Harry could feel Remus's eyes on him, watching him worriedly while Harry tried to calm his roiling stomach. Despite his best efforts to shake it, he seemed incapable of calming the bodily tremors that had come with the panic attack.

“Can I ask what happened?” Remus asked as Harry set down the half-full glass on the table. He looked up to Remus's face, brow furrowed with worry, lips parted slightly as he awaited an answer, while his hand continued to rub Harry's back.

“Hermione,” he replied, wincing at how hoarse he sounded. Harry shifted closer to Remus, faltering when he felt Remus freeze. He wasn't sure if the reaction was from his small movement, or from telling him who had sparked the violent reaction. “She didn't do anything bad exactly, she just wanted to talk but...” he trailed off and shook his head. Remus's hand moved up to Harry's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and after a moment's hesitation, Harry drew a breath and wrapped his arms around Remus's middle, pressing his cheek against the older man's shoulder.

Harry's logical mind screamed at him, but his instincts sang at the contact. He didn't know if it was _right_ , clinging so desperately to Remus, nor did he know if it was anywhere within the realm of a _healthy_ thing to do, given everything he'd been through of late, but at that moment, Harry didn't care. He needed to be anchored, he felt as though if Remus let him go in that moment he would be completely unable to cope with his run-in with Hermione.

Remus held onto him, his arm wrapped protectively, possessively around his shoulders. Harry did not miss the blissful sigh that escaped the werewolf, though he had no idea how to react to it. Harry could guess that Remus had been quite starved for physical closeness since _the incident,_ and for the first time Harry had a vague idea of how difficult it must have been for him. If the reaction to Harry's hug was any indication, he must have gone through hell waiting for Harry to be okay enough to accept comfort from him again. Harry's appreciation of Remus's patience with him skyrocketed, and for a moment he closed his eyes, relaxing into the embrace, and allowed the rest of the world to fall away.

Slowly, Harry's heart rate went back to normal and he shifted to sit up; Remus let Harry go at once.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said hoarsely, wincing at the rough quality of his voice. He supposed excessive puking would take its toll on his throat.

“What are you sorry for Harry?” Remus asked, his voice soft and gentle, the tone washing over Harry like a cooling salve.

“Just, launching myself at you like that,” Harry said, trying to figure out how to best explain it, “I don't even know why seeing Hermione freaked me out so much. I mean, I _know_ that that whole... _thing_ wasn't her, but I just can't shake this panic...”

“It will take time Harry,” Remus said gently, smiling a little when Harry scowled. “I know you're tired of hearing that, but you need to be patient with yourself. A lot of horrible things happened to you in quick succession, and it's only natural that seeing Hermione would trigger your mind to remember what she put you through.”

“But I know it wasn't _her_ -her,” Harry replied, crossing his arms with a frown. He didn't understand why he was so petrified of her. Logically, he _knew_ it hadn't been her who did those horrible things to him, so why did he react so badly to seeing her?

“Harry,” Remus's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Remus reaching forward, his hand faltering inches from the side of Harry's head. It fell to rest gently against the side of his throat, the callused pad of his thumb brushing lightly over Harry's pulse. “Go...go wash up. It might help you calm down. Try not to overthink it for now, but whether you believe it or not, in time, things _will_ get better, ” he pressed a feather-light kiss to Harry's temple, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut at the contact. Desire and unease churned within him, but the kiss itself was not wholly unpleasant.

“Go shower,” Remus murmured softly, his breath tickling his skin, “unwind, do what you need to do,” he stepped back cautiously and watched Harry for one more long moment before he turned and walked away.

Harry remained frozen on the sofa for a long time, then stood and trudged upstairs, his head full of a torrent of confusing emotions.

 

Following his shower and changing into some more comfortable clothing Harry had to admit that he _did_ feel a lot better. After returning to the main level, Harry found his eyes often straying to Remus when the older man seemed to be otherwise occupied.

It had been a long time since Harry was able to just _watch_ him. Remus radiated an air of calm, and in the last twenty-four hours the man seemed to be riding on a joyous high, a small smile never far from his face. Harry felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach, something akin to the quiet hope that he could properly fix things with Remus. It was a near-constant thought, and as he sat curled on the sofa, take-home work propped on his knees.

Harry was painfully aware that these things should take longer to mend. He'd met with domestic abuse victims almost as often as Ron had, and he knew of some people who took _years_ before they were anywhere within the realm of 'okay' again. But it had been a couple of months, and already the idea of being close with Remus wasn't completely abhorrent to him.

That seemed _wrong_ to him.

Harry bowed his head and tried to focus on his work, but already he knew that it was a lost cause. His quill hovered over the report, but for what felt like the hundredth time, his eyes were drawn to Remus.

This time however, Remus caught him looking.

“Is there something you need, Harry?” Remus arched a brow as he spoke, and Harry felt his face grow warm. The amusement in his tone told Harry that he'd likely been aware of Harry's eyes on him for a while.

“Um, no?” Harry winced at how small his voice sounded—almost childlike. “Err sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and sitting up a little, “just thinking.”

“You don't need to apologize Harry,” Remus said, though unlike the last few times Harry recalled him saying those words to him, there was no sadness in his tone. Unless Harry was much mistaken, he was almost certain that he could hear something close to a chuckle in his voice. What was so funny to him, Harry didn't know.

 

They passed the evening similarly to the day before, with an amiable dinner, and sitting together with tea as a buffer between them until it was late enough to justify calling it bedtime.

Harry wandered upstairs first and slipped into his room. He changed into his pyjamas and wandered back into the hall, caught up in a haze of thoughts of his feelings towards Remus. He still did not know how much of it was the magic of the bond encouraging him and how much was genuinely _him,_ and he was so lost in thought that he had not realized that Remus had followed him upstairs, and as a result Harry nearly ran right into him.

“Oh, damn,” Harry said with a gasp, skidding to a halt inches before running into Remus. His eyes were wide with mirrored surprise and for a moment, Harry couldn't work out the reason for thick sensation of awkwardness and the flare of instinctive negation that jumped up in his mind. After a moment, he realized what it was—Remus had been following the bond, momentarily lost himself, and had been following Harry into their room.

Silence stretched between them, Remus's hand reaching up to coil around Harry's upper arm, his eyes wide and honeyed irises almost glowing in the dim light. He opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to find the words, but his panic had flared up, and it effectively chased away his voice.

Remus took several deep breaths, and he let go of Harry. The grip had not been tight or restrictive, and that itself had not distressed him, but the prospect of Remus following him into the bedroom was another thing entirely. Remus smiled weakly, and walked stiffly down the hall to the guest room.

 _So much for progress,_ Harry thought bitterly.

  

~*~

 

The weeks had started to bleed together, and Harry found himself stuck in some sort of pseudo-stasis, both in his personal and professional life. The only indicator that time was moving at all was the gradual blooming of spring around him, and the appearance of another full moon. It went as smoothly as the last few, Remus still doing everything he could to steer clear of Harry in the days preceding it, neither of them daring to tempt fate and chancing a repeat of _the incident_.

The Red Moon case was pushing towards a cold case, as no new murders had surfaced, and Taggert seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth—again. Remus's information that they needed an Alpha to track nearby wolf packs had been added to the reports for the case, and they'd entirely abandoned that course of action. What made an Alpha an Alpha? With no way to determine this, they'd moved on to other things.

On the personal front, Harry had yet to say two words to Hermione without dissolving into a panic. Ron was easier; things were far from back to normal between them, but the fact that Ron had tried to get him out, had stood up to Not-Hermione during the interrogation, it had helped Harry's subconscious work through it. It was progress, but the snail speed in which it happened still frustrated Harry.

Hermione seemed to be struggling between giving Harry the space he needed, and wanting to talk things out. Because of this, Harry had come up with a number of creative ways to avoid crossing paths with her—in particular, showing up to work in the morning and leaving in the evening hidden beneath his invisibility cloak.

It was clear to Harry that Remus wanted him to try talking things out with Hermione, but the few times he'd broached the subject Harry had been quite happy to bite his head off. As such, Remus stopped trying, and instead took to watching Harry with concern when he was home. In the afternoons when Harry happened to be home, he'd cast him frequent glances over the top of his book or letter he'd be writing (Harry assumed to Kingsley, as he could not think of who else the man would be writing to) but he never dared broach the topic again, for which Harry was grateful.

 

They passed into May, and in his reluctance to face Hermione, Harry skipped out on the Memorial Dinner Molly Weasley hosted annually.

It had started two years before, when on the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts Molly decided to host a large outdoor dinner and celebration, rounded off with fireworks dedicated to all the people they'd lost that day. They had collectively decided that the Ministry's glamorous gala that was always celebrated that day was far too stuffy, and they instead turned it into a celebration of their lives, and not grief for their deaths.

It was always great fun, but Harry couldn't bring himself to surround himself with so many people, and the idea of seeing Hermione made him sick with fright. He figured that his avoidance wasn't exactly _healthy_ , but part of him didn't particularly care, and he was quite content to continue it. At the same time, his headspace was focused more intensely on fixing things with Remus, which was still his top priority.

By that time, it had been nearly six months since _the incident,_ and Harry was determined to get past it. More than once he'd over-rushed things, and as a result he'd suffer another blackout. Remus and Harry both took it very hard, but for different reasons. Harry blamed himself for not being able to get better faster, and Remus blamed himself for pushing Harry too hard, even when it was Harry himself who had initiated the contact that had caused the negative reaction.

More than anything, Harry wanted to get to a point where Remus could be in their room again for more than a few minutes before Harry began to panic. Often these days, Harry woke to find himself wound around Remus's pillow, or his hands grasping at the empty space of the bed that at one time Remus had occupied. Harry wasn't certain that it meant he was _ready_ for Remus to join him in their room again, but it was certainly pointing in the right direction.

However, it would be unfair to say that they'd made _no_ progress. Harry had slowly worked through many of the triggering touches, and Remus could now touch Harry's wrists and hair without him dissolving into a panic. Anything that caged him in or restricted his movement was still a major problem, and often resulted in Harry suffering frighteningly intense panic attacks.

“You're pushing yourself too hard,” Remus had said patiently on more than one occasion, sitting back and watching Harry sadly while he sat with his face buried in his hands while he tried to calm down. “You need to give yourself credit for all the positive steps you've made, these things—”

“—Take time, I know,” Harry didn't bother to apologize for the bite in his tone. Remus had told him a hundred times. The reassurance didn't make it any easier.

 

Harry woke on the morning of the day preceding May's full moon, and he immediately felt as though something was different—changed. He felt none of the usual grogginess that often accompanied his morning wake-up, and instead he felt alert, refreshed, and _hungry._

Harry made quick work of his morning shower, and all but bounced down to the main level to find it in the same decimated state he usually found on these mornings. Remus had more or less ate him out of house and home, and he had left a plate of food under a warming charm for Harry. Remus was nowhere to be seen, and for the moment Harry's mind was too consumed by his hunger to put much thought into it.

 

After his meal, Harry found that he was still overly energetic. Remus was still missing, and Harry was surprised how disturbed he was by this fact, when on recent moons he'd been relieved by the werewolf's absence.

Harry tried to pass the time working on the dying Red Moon case, still highly unnerved by their sudden silence. Unfortunately, with no new leads to speak of, it left Harry staring blankly at the various reports and crime scene photographs blankly, his quill dancing between his fingers as he thought.

“Having fun?”

Harry jumped, startled by the sudden voice, and his quill tumbled from his fingers and to the floor. Remus swept forward and picked it up, handing the quill back to Harry before he'd managed to move or say anything.

“Loads,” he said sarcastically, nodding his head in thanks as he accepted back the quill, while his mouth twitched into a small smirk. “Red Moon and their leader have disappeared, we've got no leads, and no way to figure out how to find an Alpha wolf to help us. I think it'd be easier if I knew what constituted an Alpha wolf. I don't think Snape covered that bit when he was subbing for you...”

“He did,” Remus replied, plopping down next to Harry. His hand immediately went to the back of Harry's neck and tickled the sparse hairs he found there, while he rested his palm against Harry's skin in an affectionate gesture, “you just had a mental block when Severus tried to teach you anything.” Harry snorted, but didn't reply. It wasn't like Remus was wrong.

“So tell me Professor, what makes an Alpha an Alpha?” Harry grinned at the attractive flush that decorated Remus's cheeks at the reference to his past profession, and he set aside his paperwork to lean into a casual embrace while he waited for an answer. The moment Harry had moved, Remus's arm shifted to coil around him in a possessive—but not restrictive—hold. He was quiet for a few moments, his thumb brushing over Harry's shoulder gently.

“An Alpha is determined by magical prowess and physical strength,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Werewolf hierarchy is complex, and some of it derives from the innate magic of the werewolf, and some of it is more...political, I guess you could say.”

Harry's brow furrowed as he listened, “how d'you mean?”

“Well,” Remus shifted a little and drew Harry in closer, and Harry allowed the contact, smiling to himself when he heard Remus let out a contented sigh, “when someone is turned, their magic is changed by the werewolf venom, and as a result they will become a Dominant or Submissive werewolf—I don't know the specifics of the _why_ or _how_ , it just...is. Dominants are always physically stronger, defenders, fighters—they protect the pack.” Harry rested an arm across Remus's middle, holding onto Remus as surely as he held onto Harry. Remus seemed momentarily startled by the contact, and he reached down with his free hand to rub his callused palm against the skin of Harry's forearm. After a brief pause Remus continued, but his expression shifted from academic to troubled.

“Submissives...” Remus tensed as he trailed off and Harry frowned, confused.

“Remus? Are you all right?” Harry reached up tentatively and pressed a hand against his shoulder, and the contact seemed to snap the older man out of his daze.

“I'm sorry Harry,” he said as he looked down at him, offering Harry a small, reassuring smile, “I was just...remembering.” Harry watched him with concern, but he had no idea what to say to reassure him. His eyes carried a look he knew well—the haunted look of someone who had seen too much. Harry was about to ask, but Remus spoke before he could.

“Submissives are physically weaker than their Dominant counterparts,” Remus said, his arm around Harry tensing as he continued, the horrified look in his eyes more pronounced than ever. “They are more the...caregivers of the pack. They collectively look after any children the female Submissives may have, or children who were turned young,” Remus paused again, swallowing as though his throat had suddenly become rather dry.

“Male Submissives are like glorified babysitters,” Remus continued, though Harry couldn't work out why Remus seemed so distressed all of a sudden. “They help the female Submissives, and...well, to put it bluntly, male Submissives are little more than fuck toys for the Dominants,” Remus looked towards the empty fire grate with that same horrified look. Harry felt himself go cold at the thought of what Remus was telling him.

“After Sirius was arrested, I disconnected from wizarding society and spent some time in a few different wolf packs. In many of them, the male Submissives were treated horribly. Of course, not all the packs were like that, but _many_ were. Female Submissive werewolves are incredibly fertile, and a male Dominant could sneeze near her and she'd end up pregnant,” Remus grimaced and seemed to sense Harry's unease at the topic of conversation, and he continued to gently rub Harry's arm as he continued to speak. “Dominants who aren't interested in children turn to the male Submissives. I'm sure you can imagine the rest.”

Harry closed his eyes and his fingers twisted in the fabric of Remus's tatty cardigan. More than anything, it disturbed Harry that he had never known _any_ of this. How could he have spent so much time around Remus, in the thick of the pro-werewolf movement, fighting Red Moon, and it had never come up? Harry wanted to ask if _all_ the Submissives were raped as Remus had implied, but part of him really didn't want to know.

“The Dominants also assume important roles in the pack, namely Alpha, Beta, and Omega,” Remus continued, clearly keen to get away from the topic of Submissive werewolves. His voice was even as he spoke, “Alphas are the leaders, the strongest of the pack. The Beta is his second-in-command, and Omega is the weakest Dominant in the pack. These statuses can change at the drop of a hat. With werewolves nothing is permanent, not social standing, mates—nothing. If someone wants to challenge the Alpha for his position and he loses, assuming he isn't killed in the fight, he'll be ejected from the pack. Many lone Alphas die, they can't handle the isolation.”

“They wouldn't be demoted to Omega?” Harry asked, brow furrowed with confusion.

“Technically, yes, but most Alphas are too proud to stay in the pack as Omega, and will leave on their own if they aren't forced out,” Remus said, his tone unreadable but his eyes were still distant and thoughtful.

“So...to sum up, Alphas are powerful leaders,” Harry said, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he spoke.

“Yes, exactly,” Remus went a little pink and seemed to realize that he'd rambled on a bit, but Harry hadn't minded. In fact, the glint in his eye, that spark he got when he was explaining or teaching something was endearing, and Harry had been quite happy to listen to him.

“Well,” Remus said after a pause, his awkward tone catching Harry a little off-guard, “I'll leave you to you work.” He untangled himself from Harry and stood up, but in a flash of deeply ingrained Seeker instincts Harry had reached out, and his fingers closed gently around Remus's wrist.

“Stay?” Harry could already feel a self-conscious flush creeping up his neck, but something about being parted from Remus in that moment felt...wrong. Harry couldn't explain it, but privately he hoped that it was a sign that things were _almost_ back to normal between them.

Remus's eyes brightened at Harry's request, and he sat back down next to him. Harry tossed aside his work and eased into the gentle embrace, a small smile playing across his lips as the warm, gentle weight of Remus's arm encircled him. Harry closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Remus's shoulder, enjoying the gentle touch of the older man's fingers carding through his hair, the brush of lips on the top of his head, and the careful intimacy he conducted himself with, even so close to moonrise. Harry wondered about it, how Remus was able to be so in control now, when barely a handful of months earlier he had been the polar opposite. Harry hoped that it meant that the bond was settling further, but he wasn't certain, and at that precise moment he was in no mood to over-analyze it. Slowly, Harry allowed his mind to drift, and he focused only on the gentle weight of the embrace, and how good it felt.

“I love you, Harry.”

The words were a soft whisper, almost breathed, rather than spoken. Harry nearly didn't catch them, and he froze as the meaning behind the statement sunk in. His heart thudded in his chest, and Harry felt like his voice had been stolen, as he had no idea what to say. Harry felt as though a dozen butterflies had been let loose in his stomach, and he could hear the absolute sincerity in the older man's voice.

The admission had startled Harry, but not in a negative way. Feigning sleep, he curled up closer to the older man with a soft sigh, and he felt the point of his chin rest lightly against the top of his head. His large hand rubbed up and down his back, and he felt a faint sensation of shame at the fact that he did not feel ready to repeat the words back to him. If Remus knew that Harry wasn't really sleeping he did not comment, and instead gently held onto him until Harry really did doze off.

  

~*~

  

That night, Harry waited for Remus's transformation to occur while he lounged on the sofa. The fire blazing and chasing away the spring night's damp chill

Somewhere up above, Harry heard the familiar, mournful howl. Moony disliked transforming without Harry present, but as Remus had repeated to him so many times before, there was only so much he was ready for, and these things take time.

Moony found Harry quickly, ears pricked and tail high, his mouth open in a wolfish smile. Harry grinned at the sight; at that moment, Moony reminded him more of an overgrown puppy than a fearsome werewolf. The positive reaction emboldened Moony and he stepped forward, snuffling in the crook of Harry's neck, the soft hairs of Moony's muzzle tickling Harry's sensitive skin and making him laugh softly. Harry's fingers immediately reached up to card through the thick fur, and he felt that familiar comfort that only Moony seemed able to bring out of him. His stress at his and Remus's shaky relationship, his anxiety surrounding his friends, it all faded to the background. Moony climbed onto the sofa with him, the piece of furniture groaning under the enormous animal's weight, and he rested his head in Harry's lap, ears perked and eyes focused on Harry while he pet him.

Harry didn't say anything, but sat with Moony while he tried to go over the Red Moon files one last time, while bearing in mind all Remus had told him earlier about werewolf positions within the pack and everything else. It had been a lot of information to absorb, and Harry was finding that he wished he had thought to take notes.

By midnight, he'd made no headway towards coming up with a resolution, and his attempt to work was punctuated by frequent wide yawns. Moony whined and nudged him with his nose, and Harry didn't need to speak wolf to know what he was hinting at.

“In a minute Moony,” he mumbled drowsily, any further words cut off by another yawn. Moony whined again and nudged him more insistently.

“Okay, fine, you win,” Harry yawned again and stood, his spine popping in a few places as he stretched, and headed up the stairs in a half-asleep torpor.

Harry got ready for bed, Moony following him around like a gigantic duckling, and as he eased into bed, he watched Moony hesitate near the doorway with a soft whine, then began to turn away.

“No, Moony,” Harry called, reaching out to the blurry shape of the wolf as he set down his glasses on his night table. “You...you can stay,” Moony looked back to Harry at his words, his ears perking up and tail raising, then trotted around the bed and clambered up next to him. He walked in a tight circle on top of the duvet, then curled up with a sigh of contentment. Smiling a little, certain he'd probably regret the rash decision come morning, Harry extinguished the lights with a quick flick of his wand and shifted closer to the werewolf.

Curled into Moony's warmth, Harry's mind went back to what the Remus had told him earlier. It wasn't impossible to find the werewolf packs, but they needed an Alpha to do it. _That means we need a strong, leader-type werewolf..._ Harry pressed his cheek against Moony's thick fur with a gentle sigh, the werewolf already fast asleep.

Harry could count the amount of werewolves he knew personally on one hand, and none of them would really come into the realm of the kind Remus had described that they would need. Harry shut his eyes, and almost at once they snapped back open and he struggled to stay still as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

Harry knew who he needed.

And he knew exactly where to find him.

Azkaban. 


	19. Fenrir Greyback

Chapter 19 – Fenrir Greyback

 

It had been so long since Harry had woken with the another person's body heat warming him, and he had quite forgotten how good it could feel. He turned, lost in the haze between sleeping and waking, and shifted closer to Remus's warmth. Remus responded immediately to Harry's small movement, one of his arms draping over his waist and pulling him close, his movements slow and sluggish.

Harry woke up slowly and looked blearily at Remus, who seemed to be fast asleep. His idea from the night before came back to him, and he felt a surge of excitement run through him. Harry wasn't sure if it was a _good_ idea per se, but it was an idea nonetheless. With the case so painfully dead, Harry did not see any other avenues that they could take.

He was so momentarily consumed with his thoughts of how he might ask his supervisor's permission to go through with it that it had taken him several minutes to realize that he was being held by Remus, in their bed, with the older man not wearing much of anything, and Harry _wasn't_ freaking out. What he did feel was a pleasant feeling of tranquility, of safety. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and let the sensation wash over him, followed closely by a feeling of relief. He had been so terrified that he would never be able to be this close with Remus again, and it was such an overwhelming relief that for a moment, Harry was certain he might weep.

Slowly and reluctantly, Harry slipped from the comfortable hold, and he dashed down to the main level of the house to retrieve a platter of food for his partner. Kreacher made no protest, but shot Harry a fair few nasty glares while he prepared it. Harry headed back upstairs fifteen minutes later, a distinctive spring in his step as he went.

As with most mornings following the full moon, Remus did not stay asleep long after Harry left him, and when Harry returned to their room Remus was already up and pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms. His movements were as sluggish as they had been in sleep, there were bags under his eyes, and he was pale, as though he'd been up all night. His gaze snapped up as Harry stopped in the doorway, his expression guarded. It did not take a genius to work out that the older man was fearing another rejection.

“I—er, brought you breakfast?” He had not meant to phrase it like a question, and Harry winced at how small his voice sounded. He stepped inside, and offered Remus the tray he held, while Remus stared at it with wide eyes, as though Harry was offering him a sackful of galleons.

“Thank you Harry,” he said softly, taking the tray at last, and watching with wide-eyed surprise as Harry climbed back in the bed, sitting across from Remus. He folded his legs beneath him, and watched as the older man tucked in to his breakfast.

Kreacher brought up a separate tray for Harry while he watched the older man eat. His portions were significantly smaller, and as he nursed a second cup of coffee, Remus finally spoke, looking over the lip of his own mug to the younger man.

“No negative reactions, then?” He asked, his voice laced with apprehension.

“None,” Harry replied with a wide grin. Remus's eyes seemed to sparkle with his own happiness, but his response to Harry's affirmation was to only sip at his strong coffee.

 

Harry spent the remainder of his morning bouncing between keeping Remus company, and trying to come up with a way to share his idea with Caldwell without her blowing up on him. In the shower and during the commute to his office he rehearsed the request, but it seemed as though he should have known better than to expect anything less than an explosion.

 

“Potter, have you _completely_ lost your mind?!” Harry winced as Caldwell's voice shot up in a thunderous crescendo, effectively ruining his morning good mood. “I am _not_ bargaining with a werewolf that has a victim list longer than my arm!”

“Who else are we supposed to ask?” Harry snapped back, ignoring the nasty look his supervisor shot him with as he pressed on, “Most werewolves don't trust the Ministry, and Remus can't do it. If we're careful with what we offer him, we have nothing to worry about. He even _said_ during his trial that the only reason he allied himself with Voldemort in the first place was to protect his pack from Ministry persecution. _And_ he was under Veritaserum, so we know he wasn't lying.”

“That doesn't change the fact that he's the most notorious child-killer in recent history! And, may I add, he is also the one who turned your beloved boyfriend and mauled your best friend's brother!” Harry winced at the remark as she pressed on, “the wizarding public would have our heads if we go through with this!”

“What the public doesn't know won't hurt them! We just need to be careful about what we offer him so it doesn't come back to bite us in the arse.”

“It's not that simple Potter, the second it gets out that we bargained with Greyback all hell will break loose. Laws are changing, but people are still _very_ mistrustful of werewolves, as you well know.”

“Caldwell, I'm not stupid. I know how the public feels about werewolves, but we're talking about _mass extinction_ if we don't do something drastic. We have a duty to protect the werewolves in this country. After all the hell the Ministry has put them through, we at least owe them that.” His supervisor puffed up as though to throw another argument his way, but at the last moment she deflated, and eyed him curiously. Harry waited, holding his breath.

“If you can come up with a practical set of terms, assuming he gives us the information we want, I'll run it by Magical Law Enforcement, see what we can get away with offering him.”

“You know he'll ask for early release,” Harry said, cocking a brow at her, while Caldwell responded with a scowl.

“We'll burn that bridge when we come to it,” she said, still glaring at Harry, “write a proposal first, then we'll worry about what Greyback may or may not ask for.”

“Deal.” Harry grinned, and Caldwell rolled her eyes in a way that clearly said, _I'm going to regret this._

 

Never before had Harry been so enthusiastic about actively doing paperwork. He wasn't certain if Greyback would even _want_ to help him, given that Harry's testimony at the Death Eater trials had ensured him a one-way trip to a special Azkaban cell with silver bars. But Harry knew he had to try, it was the only potential lead they had, and he was just so _sick_ of dead ends.

By noon, Harry had run back and forth between his office and the Ministry Archives at least half a dozen times, and his desk was a mess of old trial transcripts, interrogations with Greyback himself, and witness testimonies to his activities as a Death Eater. The whole thing was making his head hurt, but he was determined to get this right. His stomach gave an insistent gurgle, and Harry realized quite suddenly that he was famished. He called Kreacher to bring him lunch instead of going out (something he'd been doing a lot of in his effort to avoid Hermione), and he bowed low over the reports again, punctuating his work with cramming quartered ham sandwiches into his mouth.

When the end of the work day arrived, Harry stared down at his parchment with a faint smile. His desk was flooded with crumpled drafts and a thick case file detailing Greyback's work under Voldemort's orders, as well as his long career as the infamous child-killer. Harry found it rather odd that they'd stamped the man with the epithet 'child-killer' when there were no corpses to speak of, and that alone made him wonder whether some of the charges against him were entirely accurate. Deciding that that was a puzzle for another day, he rolled up his proposal, charmed it so that only his supervisor could read it, and left it in the centre of her desk before heading out for the day.

  

~*~

  

“You're in a good mood,” Harry grinned at Remus as he stood and brushed ash from his robes. Remus had been sitting in an armchair with a scroll of parchment pressed open on his knee, his inked quill poised halfway down. He waited a moment to ensure that the ink was dry, then set it aside and stood to embrace Harry once he was ash-free.

“Break in the case, _finally,_ ” he said with a wide grin, his arms looping lazily around Remus's neck.

“That's wonderful news,” Remus replied, his hands sliding down Harry's sides to grip gently at his hips, and Harry leaned into the touch. “I take it it's some mad, harebrained scheme that I may not wholly approve of?” he asked, his voice low and almost a purr. Harry laughed softly to the question, only mildly unnerved by how well the man seemed to know him.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry was startled by how breathy his voice sounded when he's responded, and he quickly looked away.

“Er—I'll be right back, I'm just gonna get changed,” Harry could feel a flush rising in his cheeks, and offered Remus one last smile before untangling himself from the older man and heading up to their bedroom.

 

 _Well, that's new_.

 

Privately, Harry hoped that the wolfsbane had mucked up Remus's heightened senses enough to not notice a certain heat in a _very_ specific area of his body. While he was getting used to contact with Remus again, he was certain that he wasn't ready to handle _that_ quite yet. Harry peeled his robes off and pulled on a pair of jeans and one of his many Weasley jumpers, lost in thought as he tried to calm himself down before he had to face Remus again.

Harry could feel Remus's eyes follow his every move from the base of the staircase, across the hall, and into the sitting room. He could smell dinner being prepared, and it appeared that Remus had, for once, left the elf to it. Remus had the parchment back on his knee, most of the scroll filled with his tiny, cramped handwriting.

Harry had moved to sit opposite Remus on the sofa while they waited for Kreacher to announce dinner, his stomach somersaulting at the sensation of being watched in such a way, and he could not completely work out how it made him feel. Intimacy with Remus was still confusing, terrifying, and wonderful all at once, and Harry was never sure _when_ was the right time to try things, still painfully aware of his handful of blackouts he'd endured by rushing things. He wanted to, there was no doubt about that, but that niggling fear at the back of his mind refused to go away completely, and the prospect of vocalizing his desire to _try_ left him feeling rather panicky.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Harry's head snapped up, and he found Remus watching him with that familiar calculating stare.

“Er, yeah, fine,” Harry forced a small smile, “just thinking.” Harry jumped a little when he felt Remus's fingertips ghost over the top of his thigh, and he was overcome with the familiar, but nevertheless unpleasant sensation of his thoughts swirling in his mind like a whirlwind, making it difficult to separate what he wanted from what he felt he _shouldn't_ want—at least not yet.

“Who're you writing to?” Harry asked in an effort to divert the conversation away from himself. Remus seemed to recognize the meaning behind the words, and withdrew his hand.

“I'll keep the identity of the recipient private for now,” he said, chuckling when Harry scowled. “Just a project I am working on Harry, I will explain myself soon, I promise.”

“But—” Harry began, but his words were quickly cut off by Kreacher.

“Master Harry dinner is prepared!” The loud apparition of the elf and the croaky cry caused Harry to jump a little in surprise. “Please have your hands washed before you sit down, Master!” The elf was clearly waiting for a response, though food was the _last_ thing on Harry's mind at the moment.

“Coming Kreacher,” Harry said with a weak smile. Kreacher bowed, and disappeared with another loud _crack._

 

Dinner passed without incident. Harry struggled to keep his eyes on his food, and he could feel Remus's gaze shifting to him more than once, and there was no mistaking the look in the older man's eyes. The lustful gaze was overshadowed by a look that Harry thought could be confusion—or guilt. It was less nerve-wracking for him than it could have been, as he knew that Remus wanted to keep from pushing Harry in every way possible.

Harry was grateful for it, but he often wondered what would happen if Remus threw caution into the wind and ravished Harry the way he had in more than a few of Harry's recent daydreams—would Harry panic, or enjoy it? He wasn't sure. Harry picked at his dinner while he tried to decide what he wanted to do.

Over his favourite treacle tart, it occurred to Harry that he had yet to divulge the brilliant plan he'd shared with Caldwell that morning to Remus. Uncertain how he might react, he braced himself for a worst-case scenario reaction, he took a deep breath to steady himself before he took the plunge. “Er—Remus?”

“Hm?” Remus glanced up, his left brow raising slightly in question.

“Erm, we may have a way to track the possible werewolves, but...you might not like it.” Remus kept silent, but his expression was his normal calm, and Harry pushed forward while he struggled to keep his voice steady. “We thought of questioning Fenrir Greyback, and possibly dealing with him,” Harry said in a rush, watching as Remus hardly responded to the explanation, but blinked a few times in surprise. He stared at Harry, as though uncertain how to react.

“It's not an awful plan, all things considered,” Remus's words were careful and measured. His tone did not give away his feelings on the matter one way or another, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he listened, “you will have to be _very_ careful how you speak to him. He is a powerful Alpha, and his pack is the largest in the country. Even with him in Azkaban, it changes nothing. He is still their Alpha, and no one is daft enough to try and challenge that claim. Greyback is many things, chief among them fiercely protective of his pack, and he will do everything in his power to keep them safe. Whatever you do, do _not_ offer him anything, not until he _asks_ for it.”

  

~*~

  

The following afternoon, Harry stepped into the office after spending the morning jumping from one minor incident to another. He was pleasantly tired, and was looking forward to a quiet afternoon with his paperwork and half a dozen sandwiches from Kreacher.

“I sent off the request to Magical Law Enforcement,” Caldwell said the moment the door snapped shut behind Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry cocked a brow as he strode over to his own desk and plopped down.

“They were sound arguments,” Caldwell said with a nod, “you did good work, Potter.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled a little. Praise from her was not a common occurrence, and he appreciated it. “For what it's worth, my...er, Remus thinks it's not a bad idea, provided we're careful with what we offer him.” Harry felt himself go a little red, and he bowed over his work, hoping Caldwell hadn't noticed his moment of embarrassment. What _was_ Remus to him, really? Boyfriend sounded strangely juvenile, _lover_ too intimate. _Mate_ was the obvious word choice, but it sounded weird in human context. Pushing the random thought to the back of his mind, he tried to focus on the work in front of him, but he was interrupted almost at once by Caldwell responding to his statement.

“I agree, he _could_ help us if he wanted to, but it depends on what he wants in return. He can be as noble as he likes, but it doesn't change the fact that he _was_ a Death Eater,” Harry grimaced to her words, and didn't respond. It's not like he could deny it. Not long after, she stood and headed out, and he was about to call for Kreacher when his plans were dashed by a gentle knock on his office door.

Harry looked up, and his eyes widened a little when he saw Remus poke his head inside. He jumped up from his desk at once and hurried over. “Remus? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” Remus silenced Harry's string of questions by wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him into a casual but nevertheless intimate half-hug, his chin resting on top of Harry's head for a moment before he released him. Harry could feel the quiet joy that radiated off the man, and he grinned, as he could feel it too. The lack of panic in Harry's responses to contact with Remus was becoming more and more frequent, and they were both thrilled by it.

“Everything's fine Harry,” Remus replied with a reassuring smile, though there was a glint in his eye that told Harry that he was definitely up to something. “I thought you'd like to join me at the Leaky for lunch, I've been hearing from a few sources that you've gotten quite good at holing yourself up in your office at lunchtime.”

“A few...who told you?” Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Remus answered with another small smile.

“Come on,” Remus said simply, reaching for Harry's hand and giving him a small tug into the hall and towards the lift. Harry relented and allowed Remus to lead him away while he struggled to ignore the blatant stares his colleagues gave him in passing. It wasn't too surprising; very few people had seen him out and about in the wizarding world with Remus, and he was certain that it was something of a strange sight for people who had heard about it, but had yet to see it for themselves.

Remus and Harry took the Floo to the pub, and Tom escorted them to a private room. Harry sat down next to Remus at the small rectangular table, but his brow furrowed in confusion when their food magically appeared, and there were four place settings, not two.

“What...?” But at the same moment, he heard a pair of familiar voices just beyond the door that made his freeze. Remus's hand was in his in an instant, offering a reassuring squeeze which Harry feebly returned, his wide eyes never leaving the door.

“Ron, seriously, what is this about? I don't have time for...oh. Hello, Harry,” Hermione froze in the doorway, her eyes flicking back and forth between the pair of them so fast that Harry was momentarily amazed that it didn't make her dizzy.

Without a word, Ron nudged her into the room, and half-dragged her to the opposite place settings. She didn't say a word, and Harry found himself too frozen in shock to offer up a response to her greeting.

“So,” Ron said when he'd sat at Hermione's side, looking far more put-together than he usually did during awkward emotional moments. “Remus and I have conspired against you both to set up this fun little mediated discussion.”

Harry and Hermione turned to their respective partners with mingled looks of surprise and shock on their faces. Suddenly, the letter he had seen Remus composing made much more sense. Remus smiled back at him unabashedly, clearly pleased with how his plan had come together.

“And a luncheon discussion is supposed to fix two weeks of—” Remus cut off Harry's words with a look, and he turned to face Hermione, who looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“It's a luncheon discussion to get you two _talking_ again,” Ron said, a bite of impatience in his voice.

“Look, we know that you know that what happened wasn't Hermione's fault,” Ron continued, his tone patient and even, “but since then you haven't been able to stand within two feet of her without freaking out. Yeah, you _know_ it wasn't her, but obviously some part of you still seems to think that it _was.”_

“It's not like I can control it,” Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes at Ron.

“It's not like you're even trying, either. Mate, you're like a brother to me, but you're not well. The Harry Potter I know would never turn tail and run, not like this. I know you think we're being hard on you, but trust me...it's for your own good,” his expression darkened a little and he smiled bitterly, an expression Harry mirrored at once. He remembered them saying that to him when he'd been locked in their guest room, and he struggled to see how any of this was _for his own good_.

Harry looked back to Hermione, who hadn't said a word, but was instead staring determinedly at her knees. Remus's hand shifted as though to move, and Harry tensed his hand around his. He _needed_ Remus right now, and the idea of separating contact made his fear at the whole situation significantly more pronounced.

Looking at Hermione, Harry felt a mixture of guilt and fear roil within him. He knew what happened wasn't her fault. He _knew_ it. But Harry could not shake the memories that floated to the surface of his mind as he looked at her. Hermione stunning him, Hermione launching herself at him from inside the interrogation room, Hermione threatening to drive him to madness...Harry shivered.

Remus's hand slipped from his, and a warm arm coiled around Harry's waist. He slid across the bench seat and into Remus's arms. Uncaring that his friends were sitting not two feet away, he folded himself into the embrace and shut his eyes. His fists curled against Remus's chest and his cheek pressed against his clavicle, and the warmth of the embrace helped calm him. Slowly, the wave of panic passed, and he began to sit up. Harry looked up and eyes locked with Remus's.

“All right?” Remus asked, one hand running up and down his spine while he watched Harry worriedly.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed after a long moment of silence, and ever so slowly he turned back to his friends, their hands still intertwined as he regarded them. Hermione was still looking anywhere but at him, her cheeks tinged pink and her expression flitted between guilt and righteous indignation. It didn't take a genius to work out that she no longer approved of their relationship, not after what Remus had done. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but this time, that knowledge made him angry.

“Hermione,” the sound of her own name made Hermione's head snap up, and she met Harry's gaze. “If I were to lay the blame of what happened to you entirely on _you_ and not some outside force, would you consider that fair?” Harry was rather pleased that he'd managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke, when he desperately wanted to rage at her. At his words, her eyes widened with hurt.

“Harry! How could you say that? I was bewitched, possessed! What happened wasn't my doing!” She cried, her eyes teary.

“ _Exactly,”_ Harry said, keeping his voice hard at he looked at her, “what Remus did was as much his own fault as what you did was _your_ fault.” At his words, her eyes went wide with anger, and she opened her mouth to argue.

“But—” Hermione began, but Harry cut her off before she could go any further.

“—No, Hermione, this isn't up for discussion. These past weeks...” Harry trailed off, and looked back at Remus. He was watching Harry quietly, and smiled faintly when their eyes met. Harry rested his hand over Remus's free one and squeezed it, and Harry held tightly onto him as he faced Hermione.

“He's been amazing Hermione. What happened to me really fucked me up, and he's been nothing but patient and supportive. He's gone above and beyond anything I would've expected in an effort to help me be okay again. I'm not completely there yet, but if it wasn't for Remus, I'd probably be a dribbling mess at St Mungo's by now.”

Harry had kept his eyes on Hermione during his speech, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Remus was bright red with embarrassment. Struggling to keep from smiling, Harry waited for her to respond.

It seemed to take a moment for his words to sink in, and Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears. She reached across the table with lightning-fast movements as though to embrace him, or grab his hand—Harry wasn't certain. Harry jumped reflexively, and lurched back in his seat. At the same moment, Remus untangled himself from Harry and his hand shot out in front of Harry, closing around Hermione's wrist and stopping her just short of touching Harry.

From his close proximity, Harry could see that the grip wasn't tight, and he doubted that Remus was holding onto Hermione hard enough for it to hurt, but she wrenched her hand away from him as though she'd been burned. Remus coiled an arm around Harry's waist, and he could feel the possessive edge to it. The full moon was far off enough that it wasn't influencing him that strongly, but Harry knew that the urge to protect and possess was something that never went away completely.

“Don't—don't do that, Hermione,” Remus said, his voice thick as though he was struggling to form human words. Harry could feel the rumble of a soft lupine growl escape him, though he doubted that it was loud enough for Ron and Hermione to have heard it. Her troubled look was reminiscent of the expression Harry remembered from before everything had happened. It flooded into her features, and she stared helplessly at Harry, as though she had no idea what to do.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said quickly before she could jump to the wrong conclusion. “It's just...people grabbing at me sort of freaks me out,” Harry looked away as he spoke, embarrassed by his own weakness, but comforted by the arm that still rested around his midsection. “I'm getting better, but it's a really slow process.”

“I'm so sorry Harry,” she whimpered, fat tears leaking from her eyes, “I'm sorry for everything.” It had taken her several long moments to form the words through her hiccoughing sobs.

Harry wanted to say, _it's okay,_ or, _I forgive you,_ but the words wouldn't come. They would be an outright lie, and Harry couldn't lie to her, not about this. Still holding onto Remus, Harry nodded in understanding, acknowledging the apology, but not willing to wipe away or dismiss the pain he'd endured at her hands. She seemed to understand this sentiment, and at last the quartet dug into their cold food.

They passed the last hour of their lunch break in relative silence, though it was much more amiable than Harry had expected it to be. It was awkward and quiet, but the silence was nowhere near as tense as it could have been. Strangely, it gave Harry hope. _Maybe things with Hermione aren't as ruined as I thought they were,_ he thought, both annoyed and happy with Remus and Ron for conspiring against them and setting up this 'intervention'.

“We better be getting back,” Ron said, looking between Harry and Hermione nervously.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry stood and out of habit reached for Remus's hand. He did not miss the way Hermione's eyes fell to their intertwined fingers, but she didn't say a word as Ron nudged her towards the door.

Ron and Hermione stepped out ahead of them, and when Harry heard their footsteps fade away he stopped. Remus turned to him, arching a questioning brow.

Before Harry could second guess himself out of it, he reached up and draped his arms over the older man's shoulders. He leaned up and ghosted his lips hesitantly over Remus's, who seemed startled at first, and when Harry didn't dissolve into a panic he returned the kiss, his hands resting on Harry's hips lightly. Harry shifted, wrapping his arms more securely around Remus's neck and deepened the kiss for a brief moment before he pulled back reluctantly, only vaguely recalling that he was supposed to be heading back to the office.

“What was that for?” Remus asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips scant inches from Harry's, both reluctant to part from the intensely satisfying kiss.

“For being a right foul git for springing this on me, and forcing me to deal with my problems instead of letting me drown in them,” Harry replied with a grin, his voice the same soft whisper that Remus's had been, and he leant up for one last kiss. They parted reluctantly, joined hands, and headed out to the main area of the pub.

Ron and Hermione were standing by the fire waiting for them, Ron with a knowing smile on his face, while Hermione's expression was somewhat troubled. They turned and took the Floo back to the Ministry without a word to either of them, and Remus pulled Harry in for one last lingering kiss. He took his turn with the Floo, and Harry strove to ignore the whispers and stares of the patrons discussing what they'd just witnessed while he jumped into the green flames with a wide smile on his face.

 

~*~

  

Despite Remus's approval for Harry's plan, as he looked up at the tall, forbidding building, he shifted from foot to foot anxiously, and ran through the half-dozen ways in which everything could go horribly wrong. It had taken almost a fortnight for Magical Law Enforcement to agree to their plan, but even then it was clear that they had been extremely reluctant to do so. Harry could hear the shrieks and jeers of the inmates as he stood on the shore of the damp little island, and he was well aware that he was about to step into a place where at least half the prisoners had been placed there by him.

“Be on your guard,” Caldwell said, dragging Harry from his nervous thoughts, “we have the approval of Magical Law Enforcement on our side, but Greyback is still not one to be taken lightly,” Harry nodded silently as they approached the gates, to nervous to speak. Caldwell handed their _Inmate Visitor's Form_ to the guard on duty. The wizard read and reread the form several times, as if he could not believe what he was seeing, then nodded and motioned for them to follow.

The interior of Azkaban was no better than the exterior; it was still drab and depressing, though nowhere near as it could have been, had there still been Dementors on the premises. Harry felt the removal of the Dementors had been a wise move, and it certainly made visiting the prisoners for follow-up questioning easier. It was still an unpleasant place to be however, not matter what kind of guards stood sentry over the place.

Harry and Caldwell followed the guard down a long stone passageway to a small room that was reminiscent of the interrogation rooms back at the Ministry. It contained two sets of doors; the ones they had just stepped through, the other set they knew led to the prison cells. The pair sat down in two of the available chairs, and waited in silence.

They did not need to wait more than five minutes when the second set of doors creaked open, and the enormous figure of Fenrir Greyback was ushered into the tiny room. Tall and broad, well over six feet and seemingly made of nothing but muscle. His long, matted silver hair was brushed back from his face, and Harry felt as though he'd been frozen in his seat by the man's piercing blue gaze. Silver manacles encased his wrists and ankles, and even at a distance Harry could see the blistering, inflamed flesh. Greyback's eyes had fallen on Harry the moment he was brought inside, and his mouth stretched into a wide, leering grin of mossy teeth.

Harry did not like the look Greyback was giving him, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to sit still. “Potter,” he growled, the familiar, coarse tone reminding Harry immediately of the first time he'd laid eyes on the man—the night of Albus Dumbledore's death. Harry swallowed thickly, and forced himself not to react. The werewolf's nostrils flared sharply, and he grinned nastily. “If you wanted to fuck a werewolf, the least you could do is choose a _true_ wolf, not some sickly creature who plays wizard under the sun,” he sneered, the hint obvious, and Harry swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and ignored jibe as best he could.

“I'm flattered that you take such an interest in my personal life Greyback,” Harry said evenly, struggling to hide his fear and anger at the large man behind a blank mask. “However, we're not here for a chat—we need your help, in particular, the help of an Alpha werewolf,” Harry was rather pleased that he managed to keep his voice level through the exchange, but to his words Greyback snorted with disgust.

“And why on earth would I want to help a couple of Ministry lapdogs?”

“The fate of your species hangs in the balance, I believe that might be a good incentive to help us,” Caldwell snapped, her eyes narrowed at the man, and she pushed a file across the table. Greyback shot her a rather nasty look, and flipped open the file she'd given him. He glanced down at it for barely thirty seconds before snorting derisively and snapping it shut.

“This is nothing but falsifications and a thinly veiled attempt by Ministry hags to catalogue us. I've seen it all before,” Greyback shoved the file roughly back at the pair, and Harry glared at the beast of a man.

“There have been twenty-one murders to date,” Harry said, locking eyes with the werewolf in obvious challenge as he spoke, causing Greyback to growl in warning, “There have been ten double-murders of werewolves and their human mates—throats slashed, brutally tortured premortem, and any children the couple may have had bound and forced to watch. Another murder took place, a werewolf _skinned alive_ during the full moon. Its flayed corpse didn't even finish shifting back to human before it died. Now _you_ tell me Greyback, does it _sound_ like a mere attempt for us to, as you say, _catalogue you_?”

Greyback was silent following Harry's words, his jaw working furiously as he worked through what he had been told. “You,” he said at last, shooting Caldwell a nasty glare, “Out. I will speak to Potter alone, or not at all.” When no one responded to his demand, a low, animalistic growl escaped him, one that Harry was all-too familiar with.

“ _He,_ ” Greyback jerked his head towards Harry, “is bound to a werewolf. He may be human, but that is a technicality easily rectified, as far as I am concerned. _You_ are Ministry trash. I will not speak to you or any of your cronies.” Caldwell opened her mouth to argue, but Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned to him, and he shook his head minutely. He knew that she would be able to hear them outside, an extra safety precaution enabled any Ministry worker to listen in on the conversations held in these rooms. Of course, Greyback wasn't to know that. Caldwell gave Harry a hard look, then nodded once, motioning for the guards to follow, and they all stepped outside without a word.

“Alone at last, Potter.”

“Shut up.” Harry glared at him, but Greyback seemed unconcerned, and leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers as he observed Harry, the waxy skin of his forearms visibly blistering further as the manacles shifted down his wrists slightly. “Look, all we want is to know how we can find werewolf families or packs that might be a target for Red Moon. That's all, I swear.”

“And why should I believe that that is _all_? You I can believe, who you work for, I cannot.”

“And what makes _me_ so special? I was one of the people who helped to put you in here in the first place.” Greyback smirked, and his eyes roved over Harry's form, making him feel slightly ill, but he refused to break eye contact.

“You are mated to a werewolf; bound, as I said. A pitiful excuse for one, a werewolf nonetheless. I can believe that you have your heart in the right place, even _if_ your loyalties are a little misguided.” Another smirk pulled at the corner of the werewolf's mouth, and he paused for a moment, then nodded his head once. “I will help you, Potter, but _only_ you. I will not divulge this information to anyone else, and I require _your word_ that you will not share these locations with any of your Ministry trash. I will do this, on one condition.”

Harry swallowed thickly, unnerved by the calm and collected man that sat across from him. For someone who had spent the last three years in Azkaban in veritable seclusion in the Dark Creatures wing, he was unnervingly well-balanced, and not the unhinged monster Harry had expected to confront. He knew that this moment was exactly what Caldwell had warned him about, and he quashed his fear under a neutral mask. “What do you want, Greyback?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Greyback smirked, “freedom.”


	20. Scent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So far, the longest chapter in this fic. I had a lot to cram into this one, and I actually had time to work on it properly, as my fluffmonster is finally on the road to recovery! (After going on a month in and out of the vet's office. Phew.)

Chapter 20 – Scent

 

Harry's skin was twitching, and it felt as though it might literally crawl off his bones. The warmth of the Floo that encased him did little to calm the churning discomfort the presence of the other werewolf had caused, and it took a great deal of effort to keep still as he whipped towards home. Greyback's barbs against Remus had stung, and though the trip home from the Ministry barely lasted thirty seconds, this evening it felt more like several hours in his impatience to see Remus. At last, Harry tumbled out of the fireplace in a partial somersault, coming out far too quickly and he wound up landing in a heap at the older man's feet.

“Eager to get home?” Remus hadn't moved from the armchair, though he lowered the book in his hands and watched as Harry stood and brushed off his robes.

“More like eager to get away from Greyback. That man's about as pleasant as a Skele-Gro enema,” Harry rolled his shoulders, but it still felt as though there were bugs under his skin. “ _Eugh_ , If I never have to see him again it'll be too soon. I'm gonna—what?” Harry had begun to step around the chair, intent on taking a scalding shower, but Remus caught his hand before he had gotten very far.

Remus stood, set aside his book, and gently tugged on Harry's hand, pulling him into a clumsy embrace. He cradled the back of Harry's head in his hand and captured his lips in a gentle, yet domineering kiss. Harry shivered a little as he felt himself melt under the kiss, and he lifted his arms to drape them over Remus's shoulders as he returned it.

“If you always want to re-stake your claim like that, maybe I _should_ hang around Greyback more often,” Harry said with a grin, while Remus wrapped his arms more securely around his waist and pulled Harry tightly against him.

“I hate his scent on you,” Remus murmured, his voice edged with a growl. He leaned forward to nip gently at Harry's bottom lip, eliciting a soft gasp from him, moments before he pulled Harry in for another kiss.

“Hence my burning desire to shower,” Harry replied as their lips parted, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, while an amused smile played across his lips. He leaned in to kiss Remus one last time, and as he broke it he said, “don't worry, the only werewolf I want to smell like is you.”

Satisfied with the sentiment, Remus released Harry with a small smile, and Harry headed upstairs.

 

 _The only werewolf I want to smell like is you? God, I can't believe I said that._ Harry felt his face burn, and he was thankful that no one was around to see it. He dipped his sudsy head under the shower spray, rinsing off the shampoo as he made a grab for the conditioner. He worked the product into his wet hair, his mouth twisted in a grimace as he thought over what he'd said, and the unsaid things it could imply. Remus was rarely one to push and it _had_ been a few months since _the incident..._ but was Harry really ready to go further?

Harry wasn't certain he was ready to go _all the way_ with the man, but it was certainly not the same unpleasant thought it had once been. Harry picked up the bar of soap and scrubbed it roughly against his skin while his imagination supplied a rather attractive image of Remus with significantly less clothing than usual. Harry felt a tremble course through him, though the reaction was definitely not out of fear. The train of thought surprised Harry, in particular how the idea of further intimacy with the man did not scare him like it used to. It appeared that his prick seemed to agree with the sentiment, as it gave an interested jerk at the images Harry's mind had supplied.

Harry stared at his cock, and his fingers twitched a little. It had been so long since he'd had a good wank—or any kind of satisfying sexual stimulus. Chewing on his lip, his mind still flooded with stirring erotic images of Remus, he just barely managed to swallow a soft moan of longing.

 _I'm gonna regret this,_ Harry thought as he stepped fully under the shower spray, rinsing himself clean as he grabbed hold of his half-hard cock.

 

Harry knew at once that his desire for a wank had not gone unnoticed. As he stepped into the sitting room, he saw Remus's nostrils flare distinctly, and Harry aimed for ignorant nonchalance as he stepped over to the sofa, bare feet slapping softly against the stone floor, and sat down.

The moment Harry had eased into the sofa's cushions, Remus got up from his armchair, abandoned his teacup and novel, and slid in next to Harry. He looped an arm around Harry's shoulders and buried his face into the crook of his neck, and inhaled. Harry trembled a little as the sparse stubble tickled his exposed skin at his collar; it was not an unpleasant sensation in the least.

“Mmm,” Remus rumbled in his throat, a vocalization that sounded close to a purr, “much better,” He kissed Harry once, but much to Harry's surprise, he did not press him for more, and instead summoned his novel and teacup and relaxed into the sofa.

Harry curled into Remus's side, and pressed his chin against the werewolf's shoulder, “What're you reading?”

“Stephenson,” Remus replied absentmindedly, as he riffled through the book to find his page. “Most wizards abhor muggle literature, but I quite like it myself.”

“Be honest, you'd be happy reading the back of a cereal box,” Harry said with a small laugh while Remus chuckled softly and he shrugged, though he did not deny it. Harry looked down at the page as Remus settled back into his book, but he found the slow prose rather dull, and instead shifted his gaze to the crackling fire, content to sit and relax until Kreacher called them.

  

~*~

  

“I should've known better than to assume that once I actually _talked_ to Greyback it'd be smooth sailing from there...” Harry grumbled as he stared down at the inter-departmental memo that laid flat in the centre of his desk. It amazed him that they still managed to sound professional with so many expletives peppered throughout the note.

“Another rejection?” Caldwell asked from the office door, while she shrugged out of her sopping wet travelling cloak and hung it up. It had been a week since that first meeting with Greyback, and negotiating the terms for Greyback's release for with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was slowly driving Harry mad.

“It's like arguing with a brick wall, except I'd get more from the brick wall,” Harry grumbled, and looked up at his supervisor, “can't you—?”

“No I can't, Potter. You wanted to have Greyback released early, so _you_ have to argue with the Magical Law Enforcement people, not me. I'm not putting my job on the line for someone like him. I'll vouch for you, but that's as far as I'll go,” Caldwell said, her voice hard. Harry grimaced, but nodded. It was true that Caldwell had done more than enough for him, and for Greyback by extension. If Greyback was let out and resumed his child-killing, it would be Harry's head on the chopping block. He looked down at the note and tried to think of a rebuttal to send back to them, but at that same moment, a light blue memo fluttered into their office and landed on Harry's desk.

“Another colourful note from our dear friends down the hall?” Caldwell asked, her tone almost teasing. Harry stared at her for a moment, not certain he'd heard her right; Caldwell was rarely one to _joke_. He supposed that watching him grasp blindly at straws in his ongoing verbal war with the Magical Law Enforcement people was her in-office entertainment—at least until one side gave up. He shook his head a little and unfolded the memo, and in the same moment almost dropped it in surprise.

“It's from Kingsley—er, Minister Shacklebolt,” Harry amended. He and the other surviving Order members were the only ones who got away with calling the Minister of Magic by his given name, a habit Caldwell had always disapproved of.

“And what does our esteemed leader want with you?” She asked, her tone wary.

“Dunno, but I can guess—he wants to see me right away,” Harry replied as he stood up, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously.

“If he murders you over this Greyback issue, I'll send your personal effects on to Grimmauld Place,” Caldwell said as she turned to the mess of papers on her own desk as Harry barked a short laugh. He stood and walked stiffly into the hall, the memo clenched tightly in his fist.

 

Despite Kingsley being an old friend, he was still the Minister, and if he wanted to see Harry, it likely wasn't good. _How much has he heard about the Greyback thing?_ Harry wondered as he stepped into the lift. He was certain that that was what Kingsley wanted to see him about, but Harry didn't know whether he would agree with the logic behind negotiating with the werewolf, or if he would veto it outright, thus taking away Harry's only chance at locating the werewolf packs. His stomach turned over at the idea; Greyback was their only lead towards protecting the packs from Red Moon, and Harry had no idea what he would do if Kingsley barred them from securing some kind of conditional release for Greyback.

 

“Harry,” Kingsley greeted Harry at the door to his office, and he stepped inside with a weak smile. “I'm so glad you could make it down,” he said, leading Harry to his polished oak desk, which was scattered with an alarming stack of memos from a number of different departments. Despite the mess of notes, his office was immaculately tidy, and made Harry feel like a complete slob by comparison when he thought of his own office.

Harry stepped over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down heavily. Kingsley sat opposite him, and flicked his wand once to conjure a tea tray reminiscent of the kind Harry had seen from Dumbledore on more than one occasion. “Tea?” he asked, smiling faintly, and Harry shook his head once.

“No thanks,” he replied with a small smile. “What—what'd you want to see me about?”

“Well, Harry,” Kingsley said his voice shifting from the cordial voice to his _Minister of Magic_ tone. He helped himself to a cup, and cradled it in his hands while he regarded Harry over the rim. “I received a rather interesting owl from a few distressed individuals in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, can you guess what they were about?”

“Perhaps my recent trip to Azkaban?” Harry ventured, wincing as his voice shook a little, despite his efforts to sound professional. Kingsley smiled.

“Good guess. I know you've been on this Red Moon case for a while, but granting Greyback an early release...” he trailed off and Harry frowned, certain a rejection was coming. “To do such a thing, the Ministry would be taking an incredible risk. He's a convicted Death Eater, not to mention an infamous child killer. If the public got wind of this, there would be hell to pay. I am doing what I can for the werewolf community, but my influence can only stretch so far, and people are still incredibly mistrustful of werewolves on the whole,” Kingsley's smooth voice did not betray his feeling towards Harry's idea one way or the other, and he paused to sip his tea before he continued. “Tell me what your reasoning is, _if_ he was to be granted an early release.”

Harry had been expecting an instant rejection, and as a result Kingsley's request had shocked him into momentary silence. Harry shook his head, cleared his throat, and tried again for his _professional adult_ voice.

“When I was originally researching Greyback's past trials, both from the first and second Wizarding Wars, as well as his personal history, I found there to be...well, a lot of inconsistencies,” Harry chanced a look up into Kingsley's eyes, but he did not interrupt and nodded for Harry to continue.

“During both wars, Voldemort granted Greyback the other werewolves on his side freedoms that the Ministry had long denied them, and he was promised protection for his own pack—the reports weren't clear if Voldemort had threatened his pack or if he meant protection from the Ministry...I'm not sure.

“Then with his personal history...” Harry paused, frowning as he recalled what he'd read, and the complete _lack_ of evidence for the 'child killer' accusations. “I mean, he's called a _child-killer_ , but if that's true, where are the bodies? Kids go missing in the villages around his territory, and it looks to me more like a convenient excuse to imprison him, instead of properly looking into it. I mean, for all we know these kids could've been kidnapped by a muggle, or a wizard, or they could have been runaways.”

“Greyback did admit to turning a great many of those missing children, you realize,” Kingsley cut in calmly, “including—”

“—Remus, I know,” Harry frowned, offering Kingsley an apologetic look for cutting him off. “But, _turning,_ not _killing._ I'm just not so sure it's as cut and dry as the Ministry wants to make it out to be. I—what?” Harry faltered, confused by the amused smile he now saw Kingsley directing at him.

“Some things never change Harry. You've always wanted to see the good in everyone—even Death Eaters, apparently,” Harry smiled weakly and bowed his head in embarrassment. Kingsley chuckled a little, and shifted back to his _Minister_ voice. “All right then, explain to me why we should even entertain the idea of granting him an early release, how can he possibly help on this case you're working on?”

Emboldened by the lack of criticism, Harry jumped right in, “well, I don't know if you've seen our reports in detail, but we suspect that Red Moon is constructing a _Nexbolus_ geared towards Werewolves. My supervisor, Auror Caldwell asked me to talk to Remus, and ask him if there's a way to track and locate nearby werewolf packs to warn them about what was coming, and protect them if they'd let us. Remus said that he couldn't do it, and he told me that only Alpha werewolves had such an ability. I thought—”

“—that Greyback would be an ideal candidate?” Kingsley finished, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. Swallowing thickly, he nodded.

Kingsley was quiet for a long time as he studied Harry with a strange, calculating look that Harry had rarely seen outside of Order meetings. At long last, he smiled.

“As far as mad, half-baked plans go, I have honestly heard worse,” he said, and Harry felt his entire body sag with relief at the lack of a rejection. “Here is what I would like you to do Harry: Write a proposal to _me_ , and tell _me_ how you plan to keep Greyback out of trouble if we grant him an early release. Do that for me, and I will _consider_ it. Deal?” Kingsley stretched his arm across the desk, hand open. Grinning, Harry reached across and shook it.

“Deal.”

 

~*~

  

That evening, instead of doing something pleasant like unwinding with Remus in front of the fire, Harry had barricaded himself in the library in an effort to compose his proposal. A mess of crumpled up first drafts littering the desk he sat at, and more still were scattered across the floor around the bin, not ten feet from him. Harry rubbed his eyes, frustration and exhaustion battling for dominance in his head, with his quill poised halfway down the page. He tried to come up with what to say, and he found himself terribly missing the days when he could just barrel ahead with his mad plans, instead of having to wait for written permission first.

Harry started slightly as a pair of arms encircled his upper arms, and Remus's chin pressed gently into the top of his shoulder. “Having fun?” he asked, a note of amusement in his tone.

“Loads,” Harry said sarcastically as he threw down the quill with a frustrated huff. “The bureaucracy is driving me mental, and there's a very good chance the Magical Law Enforcement people will crucify for going over their heads and sending this straight to Kingsley. I had no idea fighting the forces of evil involved so much damn paperwork.”

“I think you need a break,” Remus said with a small chuckle as he moved back slightly to rub at Harry's shoulders. Harry let out a small groan, his eyes fluttering shut and his head slumped forward a little, melting under the older man's talented hands. “You've been in here for going on four hours, come have something to eat, clear your head a bit, then have another crack at it.”

“No,” Harry mumbled, opening his eyes and rubbed at them again, “I should—I should finish...” he said halfheartedly, while he stared down at his latest attempt at the proposal. Remus continued to rub at his shoulders, and after a moment he felt Remus press a soft kiss against the back of his neck.

“Come on,” Remus said, his voice never rising above a soft murmur, “ten minutes.” Remus's mouth trailed along the back of Harry's neck and slowly encouraged Harry to turn his head. He followed Remus's lead enthusiastically, and the moment their lips met Harry felt pleasure and desire radiate through every part of his body. He lifted a hand to rest it against Remus's cheek, while a soft, involuntary moan escaped him.

“I thought you said _food_ ,” Harry muttered, his mouth twitching into a small smile as they broke apart.

“There could be food involved,” Remus replied with a wicked grin, and Harry snorted. Remus pulled Harry up, and he turned to face Remus properly while he draped his arms across the older man's shoulders.

“Perhaps you're right,” Harry said with a small smile, “maybe I do need a break, a change of sce—” his words were cut off by another kiss, though this time it was not one of the apprehensive, careful shows of affection Remus had subjected him to over the last few weeks. The kiss was deep, heated, and Harry felt as though his brain had shut off from it—but in the best possible way. Harry's lips parted and his tongue darted out to meet Remus's, both men groaning softly with desire, the kind that Harry had not felt in the presence of another in a long, long time. Remus gently pushed Harry backward, cautious to avoid over-using force, and Harry found himself perched on the edge of the desk with Remus standing between his legs.

Remus's left hand moved from Harry's shoulders, trailed down his front, and moved to slip under his _Chudley Cannons_ T-shirt. At the same moment, a sharp _crack_ cut through the air, and they jumped apart in surprise. Harry turned, and saw Kreacher standing there, a platter of sandwiches and pumpkin juice balanced over his head.

“Master has been working hard, and Kreacher is bringing you a snack, as Kreacher is certain Master must be hungry,” he croaked, while he shot a scathing look at Remus.

Harry bit this inside of his cheek, caught between laughing at Kreacher's obvious attempt at interrupting their private moment, and frustration at the elf's deliberate cockblocking. It was safe to assume that Remus agreed with the latter sentiment, as a soft, annoyed growl escaped him, though Harry wasn't certain whether or not Kreacher had caught it.

“Thanks Kreacher,” Harry said at last, smiling weakly at the elf as he toddled over and slid the tray onto the available desk space. Harry slid off the desk reluctantly, Remus's hand coming to rest against his lower back in an instant. Harry leaned into the touch as Kreacher bowed low, and the elf disappeared with another _crack._

“I'm absolutely certain he did that on purpose,” Harry said with a small grin while he snatched up a sandwich.

“Tell me something I don't know,” Remus grumbled a little, watching Harry eat with a small frown.

“Dog spit is cleaner than human,” Harry answered at once, while he struggled to keep from laughing when Remus stared at him blankly.

“Yeah, apart from that,” he said at last, his mouth quirking into a small half-smile. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chicken and ham, licked the mustard off his bottom lip, and pulled Remus in for a quick kiss.

“Come on, relax, Kreacher will get over it in time, don't worry,” Harry said, but Remus snorted disbelievingly.

“Assuming he doesn't poison me first,” he said while he wrapped an arm around Harry's waist.

“At this point, I doubt he'll actually poison you, at least, he probably wouldn't slip you something that would actually kill you. I could still see him slipping you some...I dunno, essence of leprosy or something.”

“I'm so glad I have your support,” Remus said sarcastically, and Harry grinned. The older man's expression softened and he pulled Harry in for another kiss, one which Harry happily returned.

“All right, come on,” he said as he broke the kiss, much to Harry's displeasure, “I want to see you eat, then I'll let you get back to work,” Harry groaned a little; Remus's attentions had made him want to do _anything_ but work on his bloody proposal.

 

After downing two sandwiches and sharing several more delightful kisses with the older man, Remus reluctantly left Harry alone to get back to work.

Kingsley hadn't specifically stated that he needed the proposal so soon, but Harry was keen to get moving on his plan, as he had a feeling that they were running out of time. As a result, it was well past two in the morning by the time he deemed the proposal finished. After he sent Strax off with it bound to his leg, Harry crawled into bed next to Remus. He was asleep almost at once.

 

Going to bed at such a late hour came back to haunt Harry the following morning when he woke up well past his usual time and he had to rush into the Floo without his breakfast and a hasty goodbye to Remus. By the time he'd made it to his office, he was presented with his desk decorated with a number of scorch marks that he did not recall seeing the day before, and he looked over to Caldwell, arching a questioning brow.

“Minister Shacklebolt came by, he's approved your proposal. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a little annoyed, from what I heard from your unopened Howlers,” she said in a distracted tone of voice, her eyes never leaving the paperwork she was going over, though the corner of her mouth was twitching in a small smile of amusement.

Harry moved to his desk and sat down heavily, ignoring the stack of angry memos in favour of the official-looking envelope that sat in the centre of his desk and slit it open. It confirmed what Caldwell had told him, and it contained Kingsley's approval for his mad scheme. Setting the letter aside, he pulled a blank scroll of parchment towards him and set to composing a letter to Azkaban, while a single thought passed through his mind, _I hope I'm not making a horrible mistake._

 

At lunchtime, Harry was quite keen to get out of the office, given that his morning had lacked anything exciting, unless he counted the number of Howlers that Magical Law Enforcement continued to throw his way in their fury at Harry for getting the Minister to approve releasing such a high-risk prisoner. Of course, Harry's responses of _he summoned me to his office and asked me about it, not the other way around_ were ignored, and instead of doing anything productive, he spent his time putting out small fires and clearing the scorch marks off his desk.

Harry was no longer completely certain that releasing him was the right thing to do. He knew it was what they _needed_ to do in order to gain his help, but did the end really justify the means? Harry wasn't sure. After listening to so many people parrot facts at him about Greyback's exploits, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Harry to separate the truth from the urban legends that surrounded the man.

Harry was so lost in thought that he had hardly noticed his feet carrying him out of the office and to the lift. He only snapped out of his daze when he heard someone call his name.

“Harry?” Harry looked up and found himself in the Atrium, and not two feet from the Floo stood Ron and Hermione, looking at him uncertainly.

“Oh, hi,” Harry smiled weakly, and he was relieved that they both looked as nervous and uncomfortable as he felt at the sight of them. Harry had seen them both in passing since that first mediated lunch, but he found himself too busy with Remus and everything regarding Greyback to worry much about his tenuous friendship with the both of them.

“Er—going out to lunch?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “got to get away for a little bit,” Harry smiled weakly, and they both returned the gesture.

“Would you like to join us? We're headed to the Leaky,” Hermione said, her voice quivering a little as she spoke, making it clear how nervous she was.

Harry hesitated for a half-moment. He _did_ want to fix things with Ron and Hermione; they had been like family to him for so many years, and Harry couldn't throw it all away because _he_ couldn't get past one of his best friends getting bewitched. He hadn't blamed Ginny for opening the Chamber of Secrets, or for Ron taking off when the Locket Horcrux turned him into an absolute prat, and treating Hermione differently wasn't fair. Harry knew it, and he knew that the only way he'd be able to get past it was to actually spend time with them again.

“Er, yeah, all right,” Harry said, and his smile broadened as both of them visibly perked up.

“Great,” Ron said with a relieved smile, “we'll see you there.”

 

The trio each took their turns in the Floo, then selected a table towards the back of the pub. Tom sent them over their usual fare with a flagon of Butterbeer, and as Harry dug into his steak and kidney pie, Ron spoke without preamble, his mouth full.

“I've been hearing some rumours,” Ron said thickly, chasing the oversized mouthful down with a large gulp of drink.

“About me?” Harry asked, hiding his face behind his glass, certain that he knew exactly where this was going. Were they ever going to go out to lunch again without some form of interrogation taking place? It was getting ridiculous.

“Rumours that you've been negotiating the early release of a certain high-profile prisoner who may or may not have mauled my _brother_ ,” Ron hissed the last word, and Harry frowned. Hermione looked troubled, but nowhere near as upset by the news as Ron was—not that Harry could blame him.

“Ron, it's not that simple, I can explain,” Harry said quickly and paused, expecting Ron to interrupt him, and was rather shocked when he didn't. Clearing his throat, he pressed on before either of them could interject, and repeated everything he'd said to Kingsley about Greyback, starting from Caldwell's request for him to talk to Remus, and up to his idea that Greyback, as an Alpha, could likely help them.

“It's not like we're gonna open the cell and let him go and dust our hands of him or something,” Harry continued, his throat beginning to feel a little raw from all the talking. “We've got a list of conditions he needs to follow to a T, otherwise he's headed straight back to Azkaban. I ran it past Kingsley, we've covered all our bases, and its highly unlikely that anything...well... _bad_ is gonna happen because of it. We don't want a repeat of what happened the last time G...” Harry trailed off, and cast a quick look around the pub, checking for eavesdroppers or suspicious beetle insects hanging around where they shouldn't be. “It _won't_ be a repeat of what happened the last time he was out. I swear.”

“Harry, I hope you know what you're doing,” Hermione said with a frown, her hand in Ron's, and Harry could see him clutching onto her very tightly. “I trust your judgment, but this—this person, he's very dangerous, I just hope it's not _you_ who suffers the consequences of this decision,” Harry laughed weakly, and the couple cracked similar feeble smiles.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

The trio fell into a comfortable silence following the tense discussion, and they passed the rest of the hour eating their food, suddenly ravenous after the strained conversation. Harry couldn't blame either of their reactions, but he was amazed at Ron's attitude in particular, which was much more subdued and less incensed that he would have expected. He still looked troubled by Harry's plan, but offered up no more arguments, though he stabbed at his food a little more forcefully than was necessary.

 

As they stood to head back to the Ministry, Harry reached out and caught Hermione's arm. “Er, Hermione? Could you wait a moment?” he asked, and her eyes went wide at the request.

“Um, okay,” she said, glancing at Ron and giving him a small nod when he hesitated, then returned the gesture and headed over to the Floo to leave them alone. Once Ron had gone, Hermione turned back to him, “what is it Harry?”

“I just...I want to apologize, I mean for how I've been acting these last few weeks,” he said, focusing on her while he spoke, and she blinked in confusion.

“Apologize? What for?”

“I mean, I haven't even _tried_ to fix things with you and Ron, apart from our partners ambushing us that one time,” Harry smiled when she giggled and nodded in agreement, “I know that that... _thing_ wasn't you, but with everything else that was going on, I just didn't really have the head-space to deal with it, and I'm sorry. You're one of my best friends, and I hate that things have been so strained lately,” he said, feeling the guilt bubbling to the surface as he spoke, “I'm really sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears, the moment he'd finished his apology, and she all but threw herself at him in a bone-crushing hug. Harry had had a feeling that that might be her reaction, and as a result it didn't alarm him. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug while she sobbed into his shoulder, mumbling her own apologies while he patted her back a little awkwardly, aware that the other patrons had turned to stare at them for several long moments before they returned their gazes to their own tables.

 

Harry was late getting back to the office, but he couldn't find it in himself to care much, as he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Things were finally on their way to going back to normal, and Harry was beyond thrilled. As he stepped into the office, he stopped short when he saw an official-looking envelope resting innocently in the centre of his desk.

“It came while you were at lunch,” Caldwell filled in, her tone distracted as she worked at her desk, “it's not hate mail, if that makes you feel any better.”

If it wasn't hate mail, he knew _exactly_ what it had to be. Harry approached the desk, picked up the envelope and glanced briefly at the Azkaban wax seal before he slit it open and unfolded the letter.

 

 

 _4_ _th_ _June 2002_

_Azkaban Prison_

 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

 

 _Your release forms for inmate #000121 Fenrir Greyback have been received and his release is being processed. Mr Greyback's release date is set for Tuesday 11_ _th_ _June, 2002. As his escort, please arrive at the prison at 10AM. Mr Greyback will meet with you to discuss the terms that have been set, then if he is agreeable his release will be finalized._

_Should you have any questions, please forward them to Azkaban Prison, with ATTN to Auror Marion Porter._

 

_Marion Porter_

_Azkaban Prison_

_Prisoner Release Office_

 

Harry read and reread the letter multiple times, the words not completely registering with him.

“Congratulations Potter,” Caldwell said, and Harry glanced up to see her standing in front of his desk with her arms crossed, “you've secured the release of the most infamous werewolf in history. I hope you know what you're doing,” Harry looked back down at the letter in his hands.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

~*~

 

Harry had just barely stumbled out of the fire grate when he all but threw himself at Remus and caught his lips in a searing kiss, uncaring that he was still ashen from head to toe. Startled, Remus dropped the book in his hands, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up before he reciprocated and pulled Harry into his lap, his arms hooking loosely around Harry's waist.

“Not that I'm complaining,” Remus murmured softly when Harry stopped for breath, “but what brought this on?”

“I secured Greyback's release,” Harry said, and he felt Remus tense beneath him.

“Considering you spent the last few weeks trying to do just that, you don't exactly seem thrilled by the news that your insane plan worked.”

“I'm just wondering if it's a good idea, if getting the locations of the packs is worth releasing Greyback, or if we're taking too big of a risk...” Harry frowned a little, while Remus arched a confused brow.

“You're thinking about this _now_?” Harry laughed at Remus's disbelieving tone of voice, and extricated his wand from his pocket and banished the ash from himself and the fingermarks he'd left on Remus before he continued.

“Well, I've just had to repeat my arguments so many times recently, the things people have told me about him kind of made me wonder, you know?” Remus smiled a little, and pulled Harry in for a slow, tender kiss.

“You're being ridiculous,” Remus said firmly as he broke the kiss, his lips scant millimetres from Harry's, “don't let what anyone says influence your decision. Greyback is far from being a _good_ man, but he is definitely a noble man. His priority is keeping his pack safe, whatever the cost. I was privy to his attitude towards my kind when I was spying for the Order,” he continued, while he moved one of his hands to the back of Harry's neck, and gently rubbed the skin he found there. The gentle touches made it rather difficult for Harry to focus on what Remus was saying.

“A large portion of my life was spent listening to stories about how Greyback was a horrible, vicious monster, and to say that I was surprised by the man behind the myth would be a massive understatement,” he said, his eyes distant and lost in thought as he continued to caress the back of Harry's neck lightly, and he rested his head against Remus's shoulder as he listened. “Most of my kind supported Voldemort—he is greatly respected by most werewolves, even those of other packs, and they trust his judgment. The image the Ministry portrays when they speak of him is _very_ different from the truth. Just remember that.”

“Thanks Remus,” Harry said with a smile, lifted his head to kissed him once before he spoke again. “It means a lot, coming from...I mean, you have more call than most to hate Greyback, and it must be true if you, ah, say so.” Harry winced a little at the jumbled up statement, but Remus seemed to understand the sentiment and pulled Harry close for another kiss.

  

~*~

  

The week passed slowly for Harry, in particular thanks to his subconscious attempting to process all his anxieties at once. This left him with some very confusing dreams that caused him to wake at random times throughout the night, leaving him exhausted come morning. Despite Remus's pestering, Harry had refused to divulge the nature of the dreams, they were too weird—and too erotic.

Remus had not failed to notice the physical evidence of this latter aspect, but before he could say or do anything, Harry was up and out of bed, his face a deep beet red as he hurried to the shower to rid himself of the morning erection.

Remus did his best to hide his frustration at Harry's brushoffs, but Harry could practically feel the annoyance that radiated off the man. He tried to make it up to Remus in the evenings—at least until Kreacher 'accidentally' interrupted them. The pent-up sexual tension left the couple in some sort of awkward one step forward, five steps back sort of situation, and Harry was certain that he found it as frustrating at Remus did.

Harry knew for a fact that he was no longer afraid of intimacy with Remus. If anything, his nightly erotic dreams were proof of that. However, the prospect of being the submissive partner in the relationship was still a source of anxiety for Harry, and he had an unfortunate habit of losing his nerve before they got very far.

 

On Monday night Harry crawled into bed with Remus, and he fell heavily into the pillows with an audible _flump_. Remus slid in next to him a little more gracefully, and he draped his arm around Harry's waist, while he pressed his open palm against the centre of his chest and rested his head against the pillow alongside him.

“Tomorrow the big day,” Remus murmured, while he pressed a light kiss to Harry's bare shoulder. “Nervous?”

“Not at all,” Harry replied sarcastically, “I'm sure that everything will go brilliantly and Greyback will skip off into the sunset, wind in his hair, and a song in his heart,” He turned his head a little to take in the dark silhouette of the older man, but before Harry could say anything else, Remus drew him in for a kiss. It was now a familiar sensation of a slow and tender kiss, the kind that made Harry feel as though he'd been hit with a particularly powerful Jelly Legs Jinx.

“Relax,” Remus murmured, trailing his fingertips up and down Harry's chest as he spoke. “It'll be fine, you'll see,” his breath tickled Harry's damp lips as he spoke, the sensations distracting him so completely from Remus's words that it took a long moment for the words to sink in.

“I hope you're right,” Harry muttered, shifting closer to him as he spoke and closed his eyes. He still had a strange feeling that there would be major consequences to having Greyback released, but Harry couldn't see what they might be. Remus squeezed him in a gentle half-hug, and despite Harry's shattered nerves at what was to come, Remus's offered comfort calmed him enough to allow him to sleep.

 

_Harry recognized the forest he was in, he had visited it before._

_The forest floor was soft and springy with moss and leaf litter. A gentle green light dappled the winding path he stood on, the thick canopy of trees blocking out direct sunlight. Harry had visited this place, but somehow he also knew that he'd never_ been _there before._

“ _What are we doing here?” Harry asked, looking up at Remus, who was walking with him, when a moment before he was certain that he had been alone._

“ _It is the destination. You are still walking the paths,” Remus replied, staring ahead and never glancing toward Harry._

“ _The destination? But...there's nothing here,” Harry looked around, but that wasn't entirely true. They'd stepped from the path and into a clearing, wildlife darting into the shelter of the trees, just as Greyback appeared at the other side. The sight of him made Harry's stomach clench with sudden fear._

“ _I am not the destination, I am the answer,” Greyback said, his coarse voice clear, and lacking its usual angry growl._

“ _The answer to_ what _? I don't understand!” Harry looked from Greyback to Remus and back again, but neither man offered up an explanation, their faces blank as they both stared at him._

“ _You will know when it is time to select the next path,” Remus said, and was suddenly embracing Harry, Remus's mouth on his, and Harry was acutely aware of how just as suddenly their clothes had gone._

_Greyback looked on as Remus coaxed Harry to the ground. The only thing Remus wore was a small silver key on a chain. Harry couldn't recall ever seeing before, and he reached up to brush his fingers against the cool metal. He gasped and broke the kiss, his hand lurching back as the metal burned his skin. Remus grabbed Harry's hand and kissed his inflamed fingertips._

“ _It's not time yet,” Remus murmured, then rotated his hips, rutting himself against Harry, the single movement causing Harry's back to arch as he hissed, pleasure lancing through him as Remus claimed his mouth again._

_Greyback looked on, his intense blue gaze never leaving the writhing pair; he lifted an apple to his mouth and bit into it, the juice dribbled down his chin and stained his Azkaban robes._

 

Harry woke with a start.

His skin was dotted with cold sweat, and Remus was holding him close. One of his hands had strayed, and was hovering near the elastic of Harry's pyjama bottoms. They were quite noticeably tented, and Harry could feel Remus's own excitement at his arousal pressed against his lower back. Harry's breath hitched as he froze, uncertain whether he wanted to bolt from the bed as fast as his legs could carry him, or encourage Remus to continue.

Before he could decide one way or the other, Remus's fingers slid slowly under the elastic, and Harry exhaled a shuddering breath as the large, warm hand wrapped around his morning hard-on.

“R-Remus I—” Harry felt so confused in his haze of arousal, waking, and nervousness all jumbled together in his mind, but at his stammered words, Remus pressed a gentle kiss against Harry's shoulder, and rubbed his hand along Harry's upper arm reassuringly.

“It's all right,” Remus murmured softly, “you can trust me.” Harry closed his eyes, his heart thudding in his chest, his misgivings partially eclipsed by how _good_ Remus's hand felt on him. Harry nodded his head minutely before he could talk himself out of it, and at once he began to move.

Remus slid his hand over Harry's erection with firm, steady strokes, his thumb brushing the leaking tip and squeezing the shaft in all the right places. Harry leaned his head back against Remus's chest, and he reached up to grip the back of the older man's neck while his voice escaped him in the form of soft grunts of pleasure, his hips jerking in time to Remus's movements.

“Oh _God_ ,” Harry's moaned, and he turned his head to the side, burying his face in the crook of Remus's neck. Pleasure lanced through him like an electric shock, and within minutes Harry found his release, spilling over Remus's hand with one last keening moan. Harry melted into the mattress while he gasped for breath, and he looked up at Remus, who was watching him with a small smile, and Harry felt his face grow warm.

Harry had no idea what to say, his mind blissfully blank in his post-orgasm haze, and watched as Remus lifted his hand to his mouth, still sticky with Harry's come, and flicked his tongue across the edge of his thumb. _He licked it!_ Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing, and yet found himself incapable of turning away. Remus cleaned his entire hand with his tongue, and then pulled Harry in for a kiss. It was a little strange to taste himself on Remus's tongue, but he didn't dislike it.

Remus sat up and Harry followed his movements, though he was still a little dazed from his orgasm. He was clearly aroused by their morning activities, but Remus did not push Harry to return the favour. The attitude confused him, but before he had a chance to ask, Remus switched topics.

“You're seeing Greyback today to finalize his release, correct?” He asked while Harry blinked, his brow knitting together in confusion. Remus knew full-well that it was—they'd talked about it barely seven hours earlier.

“Er, yeah, we need to discuss the terms of his release and his promise to work with us—well, me. He won't talk to anyone else. Why?” Remus looked worried, but instead of answering verbally, he pulled Harry in for another kiss.

“Don't shower this morning. The scent...it may help keep Greyback from doing anything...unseemly.”

  

~*~

  

Caldwell accompanied Harry to Azkaban, though this time he entered the Visitor's Room alone, while she waited on the other side of the door. The contract for Greyback's release was clutched in his hand, and Harry tried to swallow his doubts as best he could. This was it; there was no turning back now. Harry ran through what he needed to say to the man for what felt like the hundredth time, but he felt no more ready to face him than he had a week ago.

Fenrir Greyback stepped into the tiny room, his wrists bound in manacles, though they were not the same ones Harry had seen him in last time. Silver runes had been etched into iron, and they left his writs and forearms clear of burns, but clearly they were designed to keep the werewolf from braking free. Greyback's nostrils flared as he leered at Harry, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, his eyes glinting in a way that made Harry very uncomfortable. He knew that Greyback could smell what he'd been up to that morning, and Harry hoped that Remus was right, that the scent evidence would be enough to make Greyback keep his hands to himself.

“Lupin's Bitch returns, I'm honoured,” he growled, and Harry felt himself flush. Greyback settled into the available seat and the guards stepped out to join Caldwell, the pair of them appeared confused at Greyback's remark, but neither of them commented on it.

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, forcing himself into his Professional Auror mindset, and he pushed back his memories of the morning as best he could. He set the contract on the table, and slid it across to the werewolf.

“Here are the terms of your release: You give us your full cooperation in locating werewolves that might be at risk from Red Moon, and you are free to go, barring certain conditions. I will be coming to your territory for unscheduled visits to ensure that you are keeping to non-human hunts during your moons, and you must undergo the placement of a Portkey Cuff. If you come within ten feet of a human child, you will _immediately_ be transported back to your territory, and the Aurors will be signalled that you have broken our agreement. Further, if _any_ children go missing within the villages around your pack's territory, you'll be back in here faster than you can say ' _Dementor's Kiss_ '. Am I clear?”

Greyback watched Harry during his speech in attentive silence, and looked down at the contract to verify what he had said. The contract before him further detailed Harry's promise to not divulge any of the locations Greyback gave him unless there was dire need of it. After a moment of silence, a soft, angry growl, was the only reaction he got from the terms he'd set for his release, and Harry glared.

“These terms are non-negotiable Greyback, take them or leave them.”

Greyback was silent for a long time, his eyes narrowing in a glare, as though he was trying to force Harry to break down and negotiate the contract. When Harry did nothing but meet Greyback's eyes, he seemed to give in as he stood and extended his hand to Harry. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to shake the werewolf's hand, his own appendage seeming to disappear in Greyback's huge hand.

“You would make a good Alpha Bitch, Potter,” he said gruffly, approval in his voice, “Your mind works the right way,” he squeezed Harry's hand once, though Harry could not work out if the words and action were a threat, or praise. Greyback stepped back, and Harry withdrew a self-inking quill and offered it to the werewolf. He accepted it at once, and signed his name at the bottom of the magical contract.

Harry scrawled his own signature below Greyback's, and the contract immediately rolled into a tight scroll and disappeared in a flash of blue light.

“The guards will have you processed and fitted with the cuff,” Harry said, while he ignored the low growl that Greyback emitted at the mention of wizarding magic anywhere on his person, and he pressed on. “I will take you by Side-Along Apparition to my office directly, and you can hold up your end of our bargain,” Harry said, then turned and strode out of the room without a backward glance.

  

~*~

  

Caldwell had gone on ahead, and Harry was left alone to wait for Greyback's release to be finalized. It took close to an hour, and when Greyback strode down the passageway towards Harry, he was surprised that the werewolf looked significantly better than he had earlier. He was dressed in frayed jeans and an open leather jacket, with nothing underneath to obstruct the sight of his chiselled and scarred chest. It looked as though he'd even taken the time to bathe, his silver locks were clean, tangle-free, and brushed away from his face; his facial hair had been trimmed, and he smelt of cedar instead of pungent body odour. His teeth were an off-white, and no longer caked in thick grime. Harry could just barely see the outline of the Portkey Cuff fastened to Greyback's ankle under the denim, and given the stiff way Greyback approached him he could guess that the cuff felt less like a cuff to him, and more like a heavy manacle.

“ _Phelan,_ ” he greeted with a smirk, and Harry scowled at the apparent pet name. Greyback strode forward and made a grab for Harry, but his quick Seeker instincts refused to die, and he easily slipped out of reach.

“Don't touch me,” Harry snapped while he glared at the enormous man. “Come on, I'll Apparate us to my office—we've adjusted the Ministry's Apparition wards just for today—and you can hold up your end of the bargain.” Greyback fell in step alongside Harry, and his close proximity was enough to make Harry's skin crawl. The werewolf seemed amused by Harry's reaction, the nasty smirk never leaving his face as they headed to the edge of the island, just outside the Apparition wards. He reluctantly took hold of Greyback's upper arm, and willed them away.

Caldwell was at her desk when Harry appeared with Greyback, her head snapping up the moment they'd arrived. She narrowed her eyes at Greyback while Harry hastily let go of the man. She stood and slipped out of the office without a word. It seemed that this was a good move, as Greyback watched her exit with his lip curled over his teeth in a clear show of dislike.

“It's time to hold up your end of the bargain,” Harry repeated, keeping his voice even and professional as he spoke, pretending he hadn't seen the werewolf growling at his supervisor. “I'll escort you back to the outskirts of your pack's territory afterward.” Harry summoned a stack of maps with a casual flick of his wand, and ignored Greyback's warning growl at Harry's display of wizarding magic.

“These maps are charmed that only someone who knows the password can read them,” Harry explained as he spread out the maps on his desk. Greyback approached him to look down at the maps he'd laid out, the close proximity of the werewolf made Harry uneasy, though he did his best to not show it.

The maps displayed every magical community in the British Isles, as well as a number of wooded areas that housed magical creatures that the Ministry needed to keep tabs on. Harry looked up at Greyback expectantly, while Greyback stared down at the parchment, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Harry had a feeling he was debating whether or not to actually divulge the information, and while Harry could understand the man's reluctance, it took a great deal of effort to keep himself from looking as agitated as he felt.

“Here,” Greyback's voice rumbled a moment later while he pressed his index finger against the parchment. He growled as a small black 'X' appeared when he'd touched the parchment, as though displeased with the brand of magic, but offered up no more complaints as he continued to mark the maps, pointing out locations in the Black Forest, near Loch Ness, Ottery St Catchpole, Cornwall, Hull, and Brighton. An addendum was included to note the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts, given that the castle and its grounds were Unplottable. Greyback marked several more places on the map that were villages so small that on the map they were illustrated as little more than a small squiggle.

“These,” he began, motioning to a handful of the marks hidden in deep forest, “are the larger packs—including my own. They house twenty to fifty wolves at any one time, and the territories are heavily guarded with werewolf magic...and on occasion _wizard_ magic as well,” he sneered the word with disgust, but continued before Harry could say a word. “These are least likely to be attacked by those... _people_. They too well-protected; if these people have any sense of self-preservation, I doubt that they'll even try.” He moved on to the marks in the middle of several cities and towns, “These are small wolf packs that I know of that have more or less integrated into wizard society. They may have human mates—of that I am uncertain. Thy will be six to eight wolves in a house or flat, and they do not like drawing attention to themselves; they are more likely to be targeted.”

Greyback paused, the continuous rumble of displeasure in his tone reminding Harry of a grumpy cat. “These are the locations of the lone wolves that I know of,” he pointed to the tiny villages as well as Hull and Loch Ness. “Lone wolves usually left their packs on bad terms, or they are like your mate—unable to accept what they are,” Harry gritted his teeth at the pointed barb against Remus, but swallowed the argument that bubbled up in his throat. Now wasn't the time to bicker with Fenrir Greyback about his 'choice' of a mate. “They are the most likely to be targeted by these people, and you must make locating them your top priority,” he said, though Harry could hear doubt in his tone. Did Greyback seriously think that after all that he'd blow off the information he was being given?

“Okay, great,” Harry said, feeling a little dizzy from the information overload. “Now how do we— _I_ go about contacting them? I want to be able to warn them about what's coming, and help them ward their homes and territories if they'll let me.”

Greyback snorted derisively, as though the idea of any of his kind actually accepting Harry's help was laughable, and Harry rolled his eyes at the reaction. He crossed his arms and arched his left brow as if to say, _I'm waiting,_ and it was several long minutes before Greyback spoke again.

“For moderate to large packs, do not Apparate directly into their territory, or too close to it. Come from a distance, so that they will see you coming. This will lessen the chances of them killing you on sight. I'd suggest bringing a strong Dominant with you for protection, as the Alphas of the other packs may take you more seriously if you are in the company of another werewolf, and not alone,” Greyback growled out the words, but his tone was less angry and more thoughtful, giving Harry the impression that he actually cared about getting the message out to the other packs, and he wasn't sharing the information with Harry just as a means to escape Azkaban.

“That's fine,” Harry replied in an even, conversational tone, “I'll just—”

“— _not_ Lupin,” Greyback said, cutting him off. “You want to bring a _true_ werewolf. None of my kin, especially those in the large packs will take your mate seriously. He is too deeply integrated into wizarding society. If he is willing, I will request that my Beta, Ulrich, accompany you.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and struggled to bite back an angry retort. One more crack about Remus and Harry had half a mind to try and curse Greyback. He'd heard that werewolves were like dragons and giants—too powerfully magical for most common jinxes to have much effect. Forcing himself to ignore the temptation to test that theory, he returned to debates with Greyback on how to best approach the packs safely.

  

~*~

 

For a few more hours they discussed tactics to approach the various packs, though Greyback spent a good portion of that time shooting Harry snide remarks about Remus, or being extremely reluctant to divulge anything he might consider a betrayal to his kin, such as weaknesses, strengths, or what werewolf magic actually _was_. Harry could understand the attitude easily enough—Greyback had to protect his own, and overall the wizarding world had given the man very little reason to trust them. Harry still found it frustrating, and he left that evening to escort Greyback back to his territory in a foul mood.

 

One suffocating trip later, Harry found himself in deep forest. Everything was warm and green, the ground was springy and soft with moss and grass, and thick, tall trees surrounded them. The sunlight could not completely break through the canopy, and the light played across the path he stood in as shaded, dappled green light. Harry could hear the gentle babble of a brook nearby, and the sound of birdsong on the air. The sight of it stirred within Harry a distinct sensation of unease, because he'd seen this forest before—for the last seven nights in his dreams.

He was given very little time to ponder this, as the moment they'd appeared a voice cried out, “ _Stay where you are!_ ”

A tall, broad man came running forward, crashing through the underbrush at alarming speed as he tore towards them. He had wavy, shoulder-length dark brown hair and dark eyes, and he was a scant few inches shorter than Greyback was—though not by much. Harry noted that he was dressed similarly to Greyback in a dark, tattered jean jacket over a smooth bare chest, and black cutoff jeans that ended in a frayed hem just above the knee. He was barefoot, and seemed to feel no discomfort as he tore across the forest floor towards them with a wand raised and pointed at them.

“ _Identify yourselves!”_ He roared and as he came into view, and Greyback stepped forward to shield Harry from being cursed, a move which caused Harry's mouth to drop open in surprise. Greyback was the _last_ person he'd ever expect to protect a wizard.

“ _Ulrich!”_ Greyback roared, and the man skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with shock. “Do you not recognize your own Alpha?” His voice rumbled in warning, and while the werewolf called Ulrich continued to stare as though he was seeing a ghost. Harry realized as he watched the exchange that this must be the Beta Greyback had mentioned earlier, and he could see why the man was second-in-command. The werewolf practically radiated power, and as the other werewolf stared at Greyback, his gaze shifted to Harry for a split second. He did not like the way the man's eyes roved over him, and Harry struggled to keep his expression neutral. The Beta's eyes snapped back to Greyback, and he glared.

“How do I know you're really Fenrir? And who's the _Phelan?_ ” the man's voice shook a little, and he threw back his shoulders and stood tall, clearly trying to appear intimidating despite his clear unease that he may have made a mistake in drawing a wand on his Alpha. Harry glared at the pet name; he didn't know what it meant, but he was certain that it was something belittling. Greyback snorted at his Beta, clearly amused that he'd dare question his identity.

“This is Harry Potter, (Ulrich's eyes immediately raked Harry's hairline)he is an ally—of sorts. As for me...” Greyback smirked, and before Harry knew what was happening, the werewolf had shed his clothes and threw them aside, and shifted smoothly into the form of an enormous black wolf, with a distinctive streak of grey down his back. Harry was amazed by the creature's size, and he understood at once why Greyback would scoff at Harry 'choosing' Remus. By size comparison, Greyback's wolf form made Remus's look like a Pekingese.

The enormous creature took a running leap at Ulrich, and with a nasty snarl pinned him to the ground, his deadly-sharp teeth at his throat. They both landed with an almighty crash, and Greyback seemed to have put his entire weight into the manoeuvre. Harry cringed on the Beta's behalf—that had to have hurt.

Instead of the groans of pain Harry expected to hear, he heard uproarious laughter. Ulrich was released and he turned his head, showing his throat to the creature, and in an instant the wolf shifted back into a very naked Fenrir Greyback. Greyback stood with a smirk, and helped the other man to his feet. They embraced in a brotherly hug, and Harry felt uncomfortably out of place—as though he was intruding on a private familial moment.

“You're back,” Ulrich said, panting a little from the attack, but otherwise appeared unruffled at being pounced on by a bear-sized wolf. “I can't believe it. We all thought you were lost to us when...”

“I would have been,” Greyback said as he turned slightly, seemingly unashamed of his nakedness, and smirked at Harry, “Mr Potter was able to secure an early release for me—conditionally, of course,” Greyback stepped back and squeezed Ulrich's shoulder, then strode towards Harry and gathered the clothing he'd discarded. He moved slowly and watched Harry with the same leering expression he'd worn for a good portion of the day, and Harry turned his head away to give Greyback a little privacy while he dressed, though the man seemed entirely unashamed by his nakedness. Harry heard the other werewolf laugh, and turned back only when Greyback had pulled his clothes back on. Unfortunately, when Harry had refocused his attention on the werewolf, he found him standing uncomfortably close to him.

Harry tried to scramble out of reach, but this time he wasn't as lucky. Greyback's arm shot out, and his fingers closed around Harry's throat, squeezing lightly. He dragged Harry close and turned his head to the side, making Harry to show him his throat in a motion of forced submission. “I meant what I said,” Greyback purred softly, his breath tickling Harry's exposed skin; he shuddered with revulsion at the man's close proximity. “When you wish it, I will gladly turn you,” He released Harry with a cold laugh, and pushed him back slightly, just hard enough to make Harry stumble. He managed to keep his feet, and watched as Greyback turned and joined the other werewolf, the pair disappearing into the shadows of the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phelan is a Gaelic name meaning little wolf. It's sometimes spelled 'Felan'.


	21. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 500 life-things happening at once, including an impending root canal *tears* I'm going mad not being allowed to drink hot things without excruciating pain I NEED MY TEA. 
> 
> I would like to note that I'm not sticking super closely to Fenrir's canon personality. It's intentional, and I'm mentioning this now so that if you feel compelled to comment on the fact that he isn't in character...well, yeah, I know. (I'm a sucker for the Fenrir Greyback trope of he's a bad guy but he's not a _bad guy_. That's why.) There is also a point in this chapter where I deviate from canon backstory, which again, was intentional.

Chapter 21 – Moving Forward

 

“You smell like him again,” Remus growled the moment Harry had gotten home. Harry groaned in frustration as he stepped further into the front hall, and feigned deafness as he shrugged out of his travelling cloak and tried to shake off the claustrophobic aftereffect that always came with Apparition.

“Great, just what I need,” Harry grumbled under his breath, “more jealous werewolf bollocks,” he shot Remus an annoyed glare, but the werewolf seemed too lost in his jealousy at the different scents on Harry's person for his annoyance to completely register.

Harry hung up his cloak on the available hook before he rounded on the older man, “ _Nothing_ happened Remus. Greyback was helping with the case, that's _all,_ ” Remus was leaning against the stair's banister, his arms crossed across his chest and an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. Harry's words did nothing to placate him, as he still looked highly agitated. Harry ignored his desire to rush upstairs and jump into a hot shower in an effort to scrub off the feeling of Greyback's hands on him, and instead stepped over to Remus at a slow, steady pace, keen to defuse Remus's attitude before it got out of hand.

“He called me your bitch, you know,” Harry reached up and wrapped his arms around Remus's neck, and grinned a little at the cranky werewolf. The moment Harry embraced him Remus began to relax, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at Harry's words.

“Did he now?”

“Mhm,” Harry said, leaning up to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “I'm pretty sure he meant it as an insult, but if I was to anyone's _bitch_ , so to speak, I'm glad I'm yours,” Harry looked up into the amber gaze, darkened with lust and jealousy, and Harry grinned a little, pleased at the reaction his words had caused. With a low growl, Remus wrapped a hand around the back of Harry's neck and pulled him in for a rough kiss.

The kiss was confusing for Harry; its ferocity reminded him of Remus's anger and violence from _the incident_ , and the memory of it still terrified him. Harry's arms tightened around Remus's neck as he tensed, and immediately Remus seemed to recognize his mistake and softened his hold. He did not break the kiss, but rubbed at Harry's neck, his other arm holding him gently. Harry recognized the silent apology at once, and he relaxed a little while he parted his lips, and the more experienced tongue darted out at once to taste him. Harry moaned softly as he relaxed, and pressed himself more securely against Remus. The hand at his waist trailed down to cup his left buttock, squeezing it as he broke the kiss momentarily to draw Harry's lower lip into his mouth. He tugged it once, eliciting another soft moan from the younger man, then claimed Harry's lips with his own once more.

“Master, dinner is prepared,” Kreacher said suddenly.

The couple broke apart in surprise and looked down at the elf who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He was glaring daggers at Remus, who was clearly trying to keep from vocalizing his frustration at being interrupted. Harry's eyes flicked from Kreacher and back to Remus, and offered him a feeble, apologetic smile.

“Fine Kreacher,” Harry said with a weary smile, “we're coming.” The elf bowed low and disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

“That elf picks the most appropriate moments to announce dinner,” Harry muttered, the mood effectively ruined by Kreacher's sudden appearance.

Remus hummed his agreement, and kissed Harry once more before he reluctantly let him go, “Go wash up, I'll ask Kreacher to keep your food warm.” Harry smiled apologetically as he kissed him again, then hurried upstairs.

 

Most unfortunately, Kreacher's sudden appearance was enough to quash Harry's budding arousal. More than a little annoyed, Harry showered quickly and shrugged into some fresh clothes without paying much attention to which garments he was grabbing. Harry headed back down to the main level while he tried to come up with a way to keep the elf from deliberately cockblocking him in the future, as he was quite keen on going forward with things with Remus, not the other way around. Coming up with nothing, he headed for the dining room.

Dinner was an awkward affair, aided in no small part to the house elf's determination to stay at Harry's side like some sort of sentient chastity belt. Harry was at a loss for how to get rid of him and Remus, instead of sharing Harry's irritation, seemed highly amused by the elf's antics and he ate quietly while he watched Harry's varied attempts to shoo Kreacher away.

“Seriously Kreacher,” Harry said for what felt like the twentieth time, “I don't need anything else. You don't need to stay here. You can go iron my pants or something if you need something to do,” Kreacher ignored the suggestion as well as Harry's exasperated tone.

“But Master has not had pudding,” Kreacher said, his eyes darting to Remus for a moment and narrowing into a distrustful glare, “perhaps Master would like a treacle tart for which he is so partial, or—”

“I'm _fine_ Kreacher,” Harry grumbled, cutting the elf off, but Kreacher continued to hover and fuss, until at last Remus and Harry stood from the table, and Harry all but dragged the older man away.

Harry quickly warded the sitting room to keep Kreacher from wandering in, and he all but fell onto the sofa. “I swear to God I'm going to murder than damn elf,” he grumbled as he tilted his head back and stared at the off-white ceiling. Harry felt the sofa dip next to him, and Remus's leg brushed against his knee. Harry shifted closer, just as the werewolf wound an arm around his waist.

“If you do, do it outside. Blood is extremely difficult to get out of the carpet, even _with_ magic.” Harry snickered at the comment, and leant his head against Remus's shoulder.

“Very funny,” Harry said as he rotated his shoulders, still unsettled by everything that had happened with Greyback. Remus seemed to sense Harry's discomfort, his hand snaking up his spine to his neck and rubbed it gently. The gentle contact made Harry feel as though he was melting, the stress of the day dissolving, and Harry felt as though it was very likely that he might just fall asleep against Remus like that.

“How...How did Greyback's release go?” Harry's eyes snapped open at Remus's question, the older man's fingers freezing on his neck as Harry lifted his head to look directly at him.

“After your Jealous Werewolf routine from earlier, I didn't think you'd want the details,” Harry said, keeping his voice neutral while he crossed his arms across his chest. Remus bowed his head a little, clearly embarrassed by how he'd let his instincts dictate his behaviour again.

“I'd like to know, if you'd like to talk about it,” Remus said after a pause, “I thought you might like to get it off your chest.”

Harry stared at Remus in silence for several long moments. He was certain Remus had some ulterior motive in asking, but for the life of him Harry couldn't work out what it was. He straightened up properly, then after a moment's thought, Harry shrugged.

“It went fine, I guess. Greyback was a bit...repulsive, but he was really different than what I was expecting,” Harry said, wincing a little as the hand at his neck tensed. It wasn't painful, but he could feel the beginnings of Remus's Possessive Werewolf attitude beginning take hold. With the progression of their physical relationship, Harry was confident that nothing like _the incident_ was likely to happen again, but it still made him nervous.

“Different how?” Remus asked, his voice remarkably even, despite the fact that he still looked incredibly tense.

“Well, during the war and just from what I knew about him he was...well, a vicious monster. He...I mean, he...” Harry trailed off and shook his head in an effort to sort through his thoughts. “He mauled Bill, he...hurt you, he was practically Voldemort's attack dog, but seeing him now...it was like he was a completely different man.”

“Greyback has his own code of honour,” Remus said, “there have been wrongs on all sides, and he is far from an innocent man or even a _good_ man, but it all stems from his desire to protect his own. It is a noble cause, in its own way.”

As Remus spoke, Harry watched him in silence. His tone of voice was almost affectionate, and it surprised Harry that he seemed to carry no anger for the man who turned him. “I would have rather he hadn't...” Remus trailed off, an edge of bitterness surfacing in his tone, “I can still respect him, even if I do not necessarily agree with him.”

“You told me once that Greyback turned you out of spite because of something your father did to him,” Harry said hesitantly, recalling the conversation they'd had during his sixth year, “how can you respect him if he turned you into something you...I mean, it just seems a little strange,” Harry's tone was apologetic as he looked up at Remus, who had a faraway look in his eyes.

“At the time, I believed that to be true. It was what I had grown up hearing, my father had wronged Greyback, and he turned me as revenge for what my father had done. I was told that he was the most vicious werewolf alive today, that he wished to overthrow the wizards...but then something very strange happened.”

“What happened?”

“I met him,” Remus said, finally refocusing his gaze on Harry. Harry blinked in confusion, not understanding how that could have so drastically changed his attitude of the man who had altered his life so irrevocably. Seeming to sense Harry's confusion, he elaborated.

“Greyback believes in turning children, that is not a myth. But his reasoning was very different than what I had been led to believe,” Remus's hand hand resumed rubbing at the back of Harry's neck and he seemed to have calmed slightly, but his tone of voice was still bitter as he spoke.

“He seeks out children who have _something of the wolf_ to them. I still don't know what he meant by that, or what he saw in me, but he seemed to believe that I would have been a very strong Dominant, if things had gone according to his plan. Instead, Albus intervened and protected me from Greyback. He would have taken me from my parents, given half the chance,” the bitterness with which Remus spoke turned to anger, and Harry reached out and rested a hand on Remus's thigh, giving it a small squeeze in an effort to calm him. He didn't know what he could possibly say that would make Remus feel better, but if the small smile that graced his features was any indication, he seemed to understand the sentiment.

“I never wanted that power, and I never wanted to be...” he cut himself off with a small shake of his head. “I wanted to be a wizard, I _am_ a wizard. Greyback does not turn children as indiscriminately as I was once led to believe; in the time I spent spying for the Order, he spent more time finding safe hideouts for the weaker of his pack—children, the elderly, the disabled...and he took in almost any wolf that came to him seeking asylum. I never saw him turn a single child while I was with them, I was too far down in terms of pack hierarchy to be able to question him and find out _why_ he suddenly seemed so reluctant to turn humans. All of his pack members that I spoke to seemed horrified by my impression of Greyback, and they all spoke of him with great respect and adoration.”

“Are you saying that everything we know about Greyback is all Ministry propaganda?” Harry shifted and tucked his legs under himself and rested his bum on his ankles, listening to Remus attentively.

“Not _all_ , but a great deal, yes, it does seem like a lot of it was geared to bring him down, rather than giving him a fair trial,” Remus said, turning away from Harry momentarily, looking troubled, “His desire to turn children is inexcusable, but there's just...more to him than what the general wizarding public has been led to believe.”

Silence descended between the pair, and Harry was at a loss for what to say. It was a strange, convoluted explanation, and as he went over everything he'd heard and seen over the last days he felt suddenly very cold, as though he'd been doused in ice water.

 

“ _He seeks out children who have_ something of the wolf _to them...”_

“ _You would make a good Alpha Bitch, Potter, your mind works the right way...”_

 

Harry shivered.

“Harry? Are you all right?” He looked up at the sound of his own name, and he saw Remus watching him, his face lined with worry.

“Fine,” he replied with a weak smile, “just a lot to take in, that's all,” Harry paused for a moment, his mind going back to the events of the day for the umpteenth time, then something occurred to him, “Er, when I was escorting Greyback to his territory, he changed.”

“How do you mean?” Remus's brow furrowed with confusion, and Harry quickly elaborated.

“I mean, his Beta wolf came tearing at us, and to prove his identity to him Greyback changed to his wolf form and back at will,” Harry looked up to Remus, and was surprised by how _unsurprised_ Remus seemed by this piece of information. “How come he can do that?”

“Honestly Harry? I don't know,” Remus moved his arm to drape it over Harry's shoulders, and he pulled him fast to his side. Harry eased into the contact; he had a feeling all the talk of Greyback had probably agitated him, and the small show of affection was his way of re-staking his claim—even if there was no one around to see it. “There's a lot of myth and speculation around the ability. It is something I have heard that most Alphas are able to do, and so it used to be believed that _only_ werewolves destined to be pack Alphas could do it, but there are a few cases of wolves that are not in the position of Alpha that I know of who can do it as well. As far as I am aware, the general belief is that only very strong werewolves have such an ability.”

“I bet you could probably do it,” Harry said with a small smile, “you're one of the strongest people I know,” Remus chuckled softly and drew Harry in for a kiss.

“Now don't be ridiculous,” he murmured, reaching up to card his fingers through Harry's hair, “God, I love your hair,” he said softly. A look that bordered on reverence came over his face while his fingertips toyed with the perpetually messy locks, while Harry laughed softly. He could guess that the sudden shift in conversation was a hint that Remus wasn't keen to continue discussing Greyback or werewolf mythology, and instead they passed the remainder of the evening in comfortable quiet before they decided to call it a night.

 

After going through their nighttime rituals and settling in, Remus coiled an arm around Harry's waist, pulled him close, and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. A little surprised, Harry returned it, his arms squashed between their chests as Remus deepened the kiss, coaxing Harry's mouth open and tasting him while his wayward hands began to sneak downwards.

After their very successful morning, Harry was quite happy to do more, but there was still a faint tendril of nervousness within him. Its origins were rooted in his anxiety over the fact that he'd done nothing with a man—except for what he'd done so far with Remus, and his lack of experience was making him feel self-conscious.

“Remus,” Harry breathed as they broke the kiss, “I—” he hissed and arched his back as Remus pressed the heel of his palm against Harry's groin, effectively cutting off his words.

“It's okay Harry,” Remus murmured in a similar soft tone, “let me take care of you.” Harry smiled a little, somewhat amused by Remus's misinterpretation of his words, and instead offered up a small nod.

Remus shifted and balanced himself above Harry, careful to keep from boxing him in and kissed him once, then moved to plant another kiss to the hollow of his throat. The kisses continued down the centre of Harry's chest, while at the same time Remus's fingertips brushed along the trail of wiry hairs from his navel to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

The sensation of Remus's tongue dipping into Harry's navel elicited a surprised groan from him, and he heard Remus chuckle softly. His hands moved to Harry's hips and looked up once, silently asking for permission. Harry nodded once, and Remus smiled.

He hooked his thumbs in either side of the elastic, and slowly he eased the garment off. Harry lifted his arse off the mattress to help Remus along, and soon his flagging erection was fully exposed. He heard Remus's breath hitch as he peeled the trousers the rest of the way off and tossed them aside. Remus pressed his open palm against Harry's abdomen, and leaned up to brush the young man's lips with his own.

“You are so beautiful,” Remus breathed, and Harry turned his head away in embarrassment; no one had ever called him beautiful before, and he did not dislike it nearly as much as he thought he would. It seemed Harry's reaction had amused the older man in some way, as he heard a soft chuckle, and the hand on his abdomen slid downward and coiled around his cock. Harry gasped sharply at the contact as his neck arched, and the back of his head pressed into the bedspread.

Remus stroked him with slow, sure movements, and shifted downward to take Harry into his mouth. Harry's hips jerked involuntarily, and a trembling moan escaped his barely-parted lips. Remus gripped onto Harry's hip with one hand, the opposite one going to play with his sac. The touches were almost too much for him as he groaned, Remus moving his mouth over his shaft with practised movements, bobbing his head and applying pressure in all the right places. Harry almost completely lost it when he felt the tip of his cock brush the back of Remus's throat, but the older man did not slow down or even falter. Within minutes Harry was crying out his orgasm as he shot his load down Remus's throat.

Harry slumped bonelessly into the bed, his skin shining with sweat, entirely spent. Remus stretched out alongside him, smiling contentedly as Harry shifted closer to him.

“That was, by far, the _best_ oral sex I have _ever_ had,” he murmured, his voice still a little breathless. Remus chuckled softly, the sound cut short as Harry leant in to kiss him before he had a chance to respond. In this position, he could feel a distinctive hardness of Remus's erection pressing against his bare thigh. Harry felt thrill of excitement run through him, in particular from the realization that he felt no fear at the prospect of further intimacy with the older man.

Harry pressed his hands against Remus's bare chest, and leaned up to kiss him again while his hands began the journey south, his fingertips ghosting over the scarred flesh. Remus froze, and rested a hand over Harry's to still his movements. He broke the kiss and looked intently into Harry's eyes, “I don't want you forcing yourself, Harry,” He said seriously, “If you feel that you're not ready, you don't have to push yourself on my account.”

“No,” Harry said, meaning it, while he silently hoped that Remus believed his sentiment, “I want to, it's just that...” he trailed off momentarily as he felt his face grow warm, “well, I've never done this before and I'm a little nervous,” Harry looked away, and he heard Remus laugh softly. Strong fingers caught his chin and forced his gaze back to him. Remus kissed Harry slowly, gently, moving the hand from his chin to cradle the back of his neck.

“Take your time,” he murmured against Harry's mouth. “I'm not going anywhere,” A slightly hysterical giggle escaped from Harry before he could stop it, and he leant in to kiss Remus again.

Harry couldn't understand the shaky nervousness he now felt. It wasn't as though he'd never seen the man naked before; with the monthly full moons it was inevitable that he would see the man's full monty sooner rather than later. But this time, the prospect of seeing Remus without any clothes on seemed to carry more weight to it. It wasn't a post-full moon morning, and the idea of being intimate with him, touching his naked flesh, it made Harry both nervous and excited all at once.

Slowly, Harry broke the kiss, his fingers brushing over the needle-thin scars that decorated Remus's torso. It pained Harry to see them—he knew how they'd gotten there, and he wished there was a way for him to will them away. His thumb brushed over a peculiar puncture scar on his lower stomach, at least an inch in diameter. The muscle twitched under Harry's gentle touch, and he looked up at Remus.

“One of the few times Prongs needed to be violent with Moony to keep him in line,” he said softly in response to the silent question. The reference to his father made Harry feel very strange, given that he was lying in bed, naked, with his father's last surviving friend. At the same time, it bothered Harry more than he'd like to admit to hear Remus refer to his werewolf form almost as though he was another being entirely.

Determined to shake himself from the invasive morose thoughts, he drew Remus in for a kiss. The sensation of skin on skin chased away his doubts, and Harry busied his hands with the tie on the older man's pyjama bottoms. Not for the first time, Remus stiffened as though to stop him, but relaxed a second later and allowed Harry to continue.

Harry faltered, his hand hovering above the loosed trousers uncertainly. He broke the kiss and looked away from Remus in an effort to hide how nervous he was. His inexperience was making him feel increasingly self-conscious, and while he _wanted_ to do this, he was also afraid of messing it up.

“It's all right, Harry,” Remus whispered, his hand moving to rest on top of Harry's, and gently he guided it towards the obvious bulge.

Harry hated how nervous he was; he hadn't been half as nervous when he'd done it for the first time with Ginny, and he couldn't fathom why this time around his emotions were so frazzled. Harry knew that he wanted to do this, wanted it more than he ever thought he would, but getting over that hump of uncertainty was proving more difficult that he had anticipated. With Remus's help, he broke through the wall of his irrational fear, and slowly he slid his hand down past the elastic waistband.

Remus gasped sharply, just as Harry exhaled a shaky breath at the same time. Harry's slightly clammy hand closed around the warm, smooth flesh and he began to stroke him awkwardly, while he pressed his forehead against Remus's chest. Harry angled his head to try and watch what he was doing, but it was too dark for him to see much. Remus wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, his fingers disappearing into his perpetually untidy hair, stroking the locks in clear encouragement.

Remus's breathing quickly became ragged, as he whispered praise and instruction in Harry's ear in a low, husky tone. Remus head tilted back and let out a soft groan, his hips jerking weakly as Harry sped up his movements as he slowly got used to the rhythm of what he was doing, his entire body jerking slightly in time with his movements. At last Remus let out a grunt of pleasure and pulled Harry in for a rough kiss, while his seed sputtered over Harry's hand and Remus's lower stomach.

The pair slumped onto the bed, Remus breathing deeply as he came down from his post-orgamic high. He reached for his wand and waved it lazily to clean the mess from the pair of them, then coaxed Harry around and pulled him into his arms, his back to Remus's chest. “That was certainly a start,” he murmured with a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his shoulder, while Harry laughed softly. He loved how being held like this always made him feel so warm, so at peace.

“Yeah, something like that,” Harry murmured, feeling heavy and sleepy. They had somehow managed to kick off the blankets to the end of the bed during their activities, but he had absolutely no desire to move to get them.

“I like this, you know,” Harry mumbled drowsily, his eyes already closed.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked in a similar sleepy tone.

“This whole being with you thing,” Harry explained, rolling over in the embrace so that he could see him. “I was really scared, but I had no need to be. You...you make me feel safe, protected.” Harry felt his face grow a little warm, and he tried to push away the embarrassment as he continued. “I'm so used to being the protector, fighting the good fight, all that stuff. I never realized how good it can feel to give that power, or responsibility, or whatever you want to call it...to someone else.” Harry's eyelids fluttered shut when Remus leaned in to kiss him softly.

“It is my honour to protect you, Harry Potter.”

The couple fell asleep warm and content in their embrace. The bedroom door had been left open to accommodate Harry's claustrophobia, and Kreacher peered inside. He watched the pair for a long moment, then silently stepped into the room, lifted the duvet from the end of the bed and he draped it over the couple. He slipped from the bedroom without a backward glance.

  

~*~

 

The following morning Harry wondered if he was still dreaming, as over breakfast he was _sure_ he'd heard Kreacher call Remus, 'Master Remus'.

It couldn't have just been a dream, or his ears playing tricks on him, given that Remus choked on his coffee when the elf had said it, Kreacher bowing low to each of them in turn before leaving them to their breakfast without any further explanation. Harry stared blankly at the spot where the elf had Disapparated from, blinking with confusion as he tried to process the elf's abrupt shift in behaviour.

“Well...that's new,” Harry speared a chunk of egg with his fork, his eyes still staring at the empty space, half expecting Kreacher to return and explain himself.

“You could say that,” Remus said as he mopped the coffee from his face, looking as surprised as Harry felt. “I suppose it's safe to assume that he doesn't plan on poisoning me any time soon.”

“Or if he is he's playing it pretty close to the chest,” Harry smirked as he nursed his own coffee cup, finally shifting his gaze back to Remus, his confusion dissolving as he smiled, remembering their activities from the night before. The warm afterglow that had continued well into the morning was making Harry feel almost giddy with joy, and he was looking forward to repeating the experience hopefully sooner, rather than later. He had half a mind to call in and tell Caldwell he was ill, just to have another go. He knew he couldn't, not with the threat of Red Moon still hanging over them, but Harry was finding it rather difficult to think with his brain instead of his cock, especially with Remus eyeing him in a way that told Harry that he was likely thinking the same thing.

 

Harry took an extra long time saying goodbye to Remus following their amiable breakfast, and he showed up to the office looking delightfully dishevelled. While Caldwell made no comment to his rumpled robes, the sight of it made Ron turn the same shade as a boiled lobster as he stopped dead in his tracks when they crossed paths in the hallway. Harry couldn't help but grin, but offered up no explanation as he slipped back into his office, while Ron hurried back down the hall.

Despite the fact that throughout the morning Harry's mind had been clouded by the previous evening's activities, as he settled into the work day, he was eager to get moving on contacting the packs and families that Greyback had told him about. True to his word, he did not give up the bearings to Caldwell, or Ron, or anyone else who asked. This made planning their approach a little tricky, and more than a little frustrating on Caldwell's end.

“Potter,” Caldwell finally sputtered exasperatedly, “it's _Greyback_. There's really no need to be so damn _honourable_ when it comes to him. It's not like he's an innocent party after all,” she finished, and Harry's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, unable to believe what he was hearing. He'd always thought of Caldwell as a fair-minded woman, but in that moment, Harry could understand why Greyback had been so reluctant to share the pack locations with him. The lack of respect Caldwell seemed to have for the verbal agreement they'd made with Greyback deeply unsettled him.

“I made a promise, Caldwell,” Harry said after a long moment of silence. His voice was a dangerous calm that she gave pause to as she took in his words. “You might be on this case, but I will be the one associating with werewolves for the rest of my life. I'm not about to break a promise to someone like Fenrir Greyback. And even _if_ I wasn't so involved in the culture, I don't go back on my word.”

 

~*~

 

Ron was waiting outside Harry's office an hour later, his arms crossed and a grin plastered across his face.

“Have a fun morning?” He asked, with a look on his face that told Harry that he'd likely heard Harry and Caldwell's bickering through the door—they hadn't bothered to try and keep their voices down.

“I think Caldwell is planning to use thumbscrews on me soon,” he grumbled before he could think through the comment, and Ron pressed his lips together in a thin line that was highly reminiscent of McGonagall.

Caldwell had taken it upon herself to inform the other Aurors on the Red Moon case what they were up to, and it was no surprise that most were not overly keen with the plan. With a tricky but clever tongue-tying curse Hermione had shared with them, they were able to divulge the information safely and without worry that anyone was going to go running to the _Prophet_. The Aurors all knew Greyback was free, but they were also aware of the conditions of his release, and it seemed many of the seasoned Aurors were itching for an excuse to throw him back in Azkaban. Caldwell had had no issue with ensuring that that information stayed within their department, and she had done everything she could to keep it from getting out, for which Harry was deeply grateful.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled at last, not meeting Ron's eye. He could be as high-minded as he liked, but he couldn't fault Ron's feelings on the matter. Greyback had savaged his older brother; that was not an act that could be easily forgiven.

“Forget it,” Ron said as he turned to head down the hall, “C'mon, Hermione's waiting for us at the Leaky,” Harry followed the redhead in awkward, tense silence.

Hermione's smile seemed rather fixed as Ron sat at her side, and Harry across from her at their usual table at the back of the pub. The awkward silence did not abate, and the couple exchanged a significant look, while Harry looked on, his brow knitted in confusion. When they looked back at him, it seemed as though they wanted him to ask them something. Harry had a fairly good idea what they were going to ask, but after his exhausting morning with Caldwell he had little desire to discuss it further, and decided to play dumb. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know exactly what,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. “What happened with You Know Who?”

“Well, back in May of 1998—ow!” Harry grimaced and rubbed his arm where Hermione had hit him.

“Don't be a smartass. You Know Who who you were with yesterday,” Hermione snapped, while raised her eyebrows, her curiosity almost coming off her in waves. Harry hesitated, but he knew that he probably wouldn't be able to get out of it with an _I don't want to talk about it_ , and he took a moment to choose his words carefully before he finally responded.

“It was weird,” Harry said at last, “he kept making cracks about Remus, and kept vaguely hinting that he wanted to turn me,” he continued as three servings of lamb stew and a loaf of crusty bread materialized on their table. Harry picked up his spoon, but his stomach was too knotted up to even contemplate eating at the moment.

“It's weird,” Harry continued, toying with his spoon and avoiding their eyes while he spoke. “He was nothing like he was during the war. All he cared about was keeping his— _family_ safe,” Harry paused and frowned, tucking into his lunch before he continued. “I never thought I'd say this, but I sort of respect him. Everything he did was designed to protect his family. I'm not saying he's a good man, he's just...there's more to him, I guess.” Harry looked up from his stew, which he had been prodding but hadn't eaten to find both his friends staring at him with wide eyes. “What? What is it this time?”

“He wants to _turn_ you?” Ron sounded aghast, while Hermione was holding her hands up over her mouth, looking as though somebody had died.

“I don't think he was serious,” Harry said quickly, while he fished out a chunk of potato and stared at it, if nothing else just to avoid looking at the horrified looks his friends were still giving him. “I think he was just trying to shake me up a bit. In the end it worked out pretty well for me,” Harry smirked, remembering the previous night's activities, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. He didn't elaborate, and instead decided to let the couple stew in their unfounded worry, while Harry's appetite returned with a vengeance, and he began to eat.

 

~*~

  

The week passed slowly for Harry.

Harry and his supervisor had spent the better part of the week running in circles and sniping at each other like a pair of angry squirrels, debating methods for approaching the werewolf families and packs. Caldwell was blatantly ignoring all the advice Greyback had given them—which Harry had shared with her following that first meeting with him. Harry was insistent that it was best for him to do as Greyback had said and take his Beta along, given that with another werewolf present they were more likely to talk with him, while Caldwell wanted to send a team to back him up.

Alternatively, Harry could not recall a time where he looked forward so much to going home at the end of the day. His physical relationship with Remus was moving forward slowly but steadily, Harry was gaining confidence in the bedroom with each passing day. They had yet to move past hurried hand jobs and mind-blowing oral sex; Remus was infuriatingly self-conscious about pushing Harry too far, even accidentally. Harry appreciated the sentiment, but he couldn't help feeling like he was being coddled. He knew that Remus meant well, but he'd rather be treated like an adult than a child; Remus knew full well that if Harry didn't want to do something, he'd say so.

Despite his frustrations in both his personal and professional life, his stubbornness seemed to have paid off, and at long last Caldwell caved to Harry's demands and he was allowed to contact Greyback and set up a time when he could meet with his Beta and begin meeting with the wolf packs.

 

One sunny Thursday afternoon, Harry found himself on the edge of the Black Forest, with Fenrir Greyback's Beta, Ulrich at his side. He had been in the other werewolf's company for barely fifteen minutes but Harry was already beginning to regret the decision to have him accompany him—Ulrich had not stopped checking him out since they'd left.

It was vastly different from Greyback's flirtations. With Greyback, Harry knew that he was doing it just to get a rise out of him, or to deliberately make him feel uncomfortable. With Ulrich, it was a quiet, surreptitious look, and every time Harry turned to try and catch him at it, he glanced away. Harry could feel the werewolf's eyes on him the moment he'd looked away, and it made Harry incredibly uncomfortable, though he had no idea how to address it. Privately, Harry hoped that the scent of his and Remus's morning activities would be enough to make the Beta keep his hands to himself until he could come up with a better way to get the Beta to knock it off.

They wove through the trees towards the territory, Ulrich in the lead and Harry falling in step behind him. He stood up straight and did his best to look as professional and unruffled as he could next to the werewolf, but the fact was the man made him look _tiny_. Ulrich had nearly a foot in height on him, he was almost twice as wide, and he was easily as muscular as Greyback. Harry had never been particularly self-conscious by his muscle mass or height, but it was difficult to not be while in the company of such an enormous man.

Harry could feel the moment they passed into the territory; the unfamiliar sensation of the wards' magic fluttered over his skin like butterfly wings. It felt very different from any ward he'd ever felt before, and for a moment Harry wondered if this was what werewolf magic felt like. He'd heard and read about nonhuman forms of magic before, but he knew very little about it. _Another thing to ask Hermione about next time I see her,_ Harry thought, jerking to a halt when he saw a pair of towering men striding towards them through the trees.

The two werewolves that approached them matched Greyback and his Beta in size and stature. Both were well over six feet, and built like a pair of brick sheds. They were both sparsely dressed in muggle garb of sturdy jeans, wife beaters, and well-worn leather jackets.

“Ulrich,” boomed the man on the right as he came close enough for Harry to see him clearly. He was dark-skinned and clean shaven, his long, straight black hair swept away from his face and cascaded halfway down his back. “What brings you?” He pulled Harry's companion into a one-armed hug, clapping him hard on the back before he stepped away. Harry was surprised by the North American accent he heard on the man's lips, though he tried to hide it as he glanced to the man's companion, who was a scant inch or two shorter and just as broad, his wavy silver and auburn hair pushed back from his face in the same style, and a bushy red beard strengthening the look of his jaw. The dark-skinned man looked directly at Harry, and he watched as his nostrils flared slightly as he eyed Harry curiously.

“Bad business I'm afraid, Alpha,” Ulrich replied, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and dragging him forward. Startled by the sudden movement, Harry stumbled a little before he found his feet, and again he felt unsettlingly small, surrounded by the three gargantuan men. Were all werewolves so _big_? He shrugged out from under Ulrich's hold on his shoulder while he tried to not look as bothered as he felt by the casual contact. “Harry,” Ulrich said, apparently ignorant to Harry's discomfort, “this is Alpha Halim, and his Beta, Brannigan.”

Harry nodded to each of them in turn. The pair did not regard Harry with outright dislike, but they did appear politely wary. Harry understood the attitude easily enough, and did not feel offended by it. “Alpha, Harry is bound to a lone werewolf, and he works for the Ministry,” Harry tensed at his words, fully aware how most werewolves felt about the Ministry of Magic. “I'll allow him to explain,” Ulrich finished with an encouraging smile and gave him a small nudge forward.

“Um,” Harry cleared his throat, trying his best to not let how intimidated he felt show. “My name's Harry Potter, (their eyes raked Harry's hairline at once) and I'm a Trainee Auror at the Auror Office. One of my late father's closest friends is a werewolf, and my partner is one as well,” Harry fought the flush that threatened to creep up his neck; they didn't need to know that it happened to be the _same_ werewolf.

“Over the last few months the Anti-Werewolf group Red Moon has been targeting bound werewolf-human couples. We were concerned that most packs may not know what was going on, and I'm visiting as many as I can with my, er, emissary,” he glanced briefly to Ulrich, who offered Harry another small smile, “and giving you information of what we know so that you can protect yourselves. I was given the locations of the packs in confidence, and no one knows where they are except for me.”

Harry fell silent, and waited patiently for a response. The Alpha eyed Harry curiously, like one might watch a barking cat—something beneath their level of intelligence that was acting distinctly out of character. Harry didn't like the way the look made him feel, but he didn't dare protest.

“What is Red Moon doing, specifically?” The question came after a solid minute of silence, while the Beta crossed his arms and stepped back, as though he disapproved of the Alpha indulging Harry at all.

“They're constructing a curse that requires them to murder twelve couples in cold blood, and to, um, flay alive a single werewolf under the full moon.” Harry's cheek twitched in disgust, a shiver running through him as the victim photographs played across his mind's eye. “It's a genocidal curse, and if they succeed they'll be able to wipe out werewolves in huge numbers without having to lift a finger.”

Forgetting his professionalism for a moment, Harry lifted a hand to rake it through his hair, feeling the overwhelming guilt at the fact that he had been unable to stop them so far. “They're at ten double murders and they have murdered a werewolf under the full moon already,” Harry looked away as his voice became a little hoarse, and cleared his throat before he continued, “four more people will die if we can't stop it, and I don't want that to happen.”

Harry refocused his gaze on the Alpha, but was careful to not meet his eye. While in human circles this would have been considered impolite, he knew that in werewolf culture meeting his eye would be seen as a challenge, and complicating matters was the last thing Harry wanted to do.

“I appreciate your candour, Harry Potter,” Halim said at last, studying Harry with a careful, calculating eye as he spoke. “We take care of our own, as I am sure you know. We will pass the message on to the rest of our pack. Should we require your assistance—understand me, I say _your_ assistance, and not the assistance of your Ministry—I shall contact you through Ulrich or by your Owl Post.” The answer had not been unexpected, but it was a little disheartening all the same. He nodded his head once.

“I understand Alpha, thank you for taking the time to hear me out,” Halim smiled, and reached out a hand to grasp Harry's shoulder. The limb felt strangely heavy on his shoulder.

“Your mate must trust you implicitly,” he said, his tone warm and complimentary, “to allow you to associate with wolves unknown to him without his presence,” Harry felt himself go a little red at that, and the Alpha chuckled a little. He removed his hand and stepped back, and Harry found that he was struck again by the inequality of werewolf society, at least when it came to personal relationships. Harry hid his disapproval behind a neutral mask, and smiled faintly.

“We trust each other,” Harry said simply, uncertain what else he could say. Halim appeared amused by Harry's words, but he did not speak any further on the matter. The interview was clearly over, and in silence the pair nodded a silent goodbye to Ulrich. Before Harry could protest, the Beta reached out and grasped him by the upper arm, turning him around and steered him from the territory. The moment they'd crossed the territory's magical barrier, they Disapparated, heading for the next territory.

  

~*~

  

Harry wobbled on the edge of the top step, shaking off the Apparition while he braced himself for the inevitable clinging-jealous-werewolf attitude he'd have to deal with the second he stepped inside. Normally, Harry found it strangely endearing, but this evening Harry was too exhausted to have much patience for it.

As Harry crossed the threshold Remus appeared almost at once, smiling softly at Harry. “Welcome—” he faltered as his nostrils flared, no doubt smelling the number of strange wolf scents on his person, and Harry held up a hand before he could say a word.

“Not a word, Remus. I _know_. I've been in talks with werewolf packs all day, _of course_ I'm going to smell like a bunch of werewolves that aren't you. I like it no more than you do, I hope you realize that,” Remus huffed something between a snort and a genuine laugh as Harry finished his little speech, and he loped forward to gather the younger man in his arms.

Harry grinned and reached up to kiss him while he hooked his arms around Remus's neck and pressed himself bodily up against the older man. Remus wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and held him close, breaking the kiss to trail his lips and tongue across the edge of his jaw and down the side of his throat, while his hands moved to his front and slipped under his robe.

Harry groaned, tilting his head back to give Remus easier access, his eyes fluttering shut as Remus deviated from his throat and pressed another kiss to his waiting mouth.

“If we keep this up,” Harry mumbled, breathing heavily as he clung to the older man, “I'm going to embarrass myself and make a huge mess of my work trousers.”

“Explain the part where that's a bad thing,” he replied with a grin, casually sliding his palm across the front of Harry's trousers, eliciting a sharp gasp from the younger man. Harry offered him a mock-glare, though the effect was entirely ruined by the shadow of a grin that twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Well—”

“Master,” a familiar voice croaked, and Harry groaned. “Kreacher has dinner nearly prepared, if yourself and Master Remus wishes to wash up.”

Harry looked over, and was surprised to see that the elf looked genuinely apologetic, whereas before he had seemed determined to keep them apart. Harry reluctantly disentangled himself from Remus, and offered the elf a small smile.

“Thanks Kreacher, we'll be in soon,” the elf bowed low, and disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

Harry turned to Remus, cracked a small grin and reached out to squeeze his hand once, before disappearing upstairs.

After washing and changing into some comfortable clothes, Harry returned to the main level and they ate in comfortable silence. Remus looked thoughtful, while Harry was replaying his more than satisfactory welcome home over and over in his head. It had left him with a near-painful hard-on, and he was dying for the meal to be over so that he could engage his partner in a more pleasurable activity.

Following dinner, Remus lifted his wand to conjure their nightly pot of tea. Harry struck out his hand and rested it over Remus's to still his movements. Startled, Remus looked up at him with confusion, while Harry smiled faintly at his partner. “What d'you say we skip the tea tonight and make it an...early night?” He cocked a brow suggestively, and bit his lip to stifle a grin when Remus's eyes went a little wide.

“Are you certain?” Remus asked, apparently surprised by Harry's enthusiasm. Harry grinned.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry replied, while Remus looked from Harry's eyes to their hands, and he switched his wand to his free hand to enable him to thread his fingers with the younger man's. He smiled warmly, and lifted his gaze to Harry, who felt suddenly very warm under the intensity of the werewolf's gaze.

Remus circled the table carefully and tucked away his wand at the same time, then reached out to pulled Harry in for a kiss.

Harry coiled his free arm around Remus's neck and parted his lips at once with a soft groan, their tongues tangling together in feverish want. Remus shifted both of his hands to Harry's buttocks, and Harry in turn tangled his fingers in the front of Remus's cardigan, all but trembling with excitement.

With strength that did not befit his stature, Remus lifted Harry easily, and Harry yelped in surprise as he clung more tightly to his partner. His legs instinctively locking around Remus's waist, his eyes wide with surprise and fright.

“Remus, put me down!” Harry's hold tightened, but Remus acted as though Harry weighed no more than a sack of flour.

“Relax Harry, I promise I won't drop you,” he grinned mischievously and began to move, which resulted in Harry clinging even more tightly to him.

“Seriously Remus, this isn't funny, I'm _heavy_. Put me—” his protests were cut off by a rather passionate kiss, which Remus maintained down the hall, up the stairs, and all the way to their bedroom, where he finally let Harry down. Harry immediately sat on the end of the bed, a hand clutched over his heart while he glared at the older man.

“Never ever do that again,” Harry said while he took several breaths to steady himself, and Remus laughed softly.

“How is it you can fly around hundreds of feet in the air, but you panic when you're lifted not three feet off the ground?” Remus sat down next to Harry, his leg deliberately brushing against the younger man's, and with a slightly devilish smirk Harry shifted to perch in Remus's lap, his knees resting on either side of the older man's hips. He began fiddling with the buttons on Remus's cardigan, but did not immediately begin to remove the garment.

“It's different when there's a chance that you could fall down the stairs and die when you're significant other is trying to be suave,” Harry replied, popping open one of the buttons while Remus chuckled, as though Harry's explanation was absolutely ludicrous.

“I have a werewolf's strength and dexterity; I wouldn't have dropped you,” Remus's voice had trailed off to something closer to a murmur as Harry continued to slowly disrobe him, unbuttoning the cardigan and shirt both before he slipped his fingers under the two garments at the shoulder and slowly pushed them off. Remus shook the two articles of clothing off his arms and tossed them carelessly to the floor then refocused his intense, honeyed gaze on Harry.

“You say that now,” Harry said, voice lowered in volume as he brushed his fingers over the thin scars decorating the older man's chest, “but I think you'll be singing a different tune when my skull is cracked open and my brains are scattered all over the front hall.” His fingers continued to map the scars that decorated his chest, while Remus tilted his head back with a contented sigh, putting most of his weight on his arms while Harry tended to the expanse of scarred flesh before him.

“You worry too much Har— _oh_ ,” his words were cut off with a soft groan as Harry's tongue traced one of the thin scars that crossed his left pectoral muscle, tapering off just below his clavicle. Grinning at his success, Harry's fingers idly traced the other scars while he lowered his mouth to his nipple, and twirled the tip of his tongue around it. Remus shuddered delightfully beneath him, and Harry deliberately fidgeted in his lap to brush his erection pointedly against a particular hardness that was pressing into Harry's thigh.

Taking his sweet time, Harry slowly crawled out of Remus's lap as his kisses, licks, and touches went lower, until he was kneeling between the older man's legs. Harry's tongue trailed towards the top of his dark brown trousers and he popped open the top button. He paused long enough to look up, silently asking for permission to continue. Remus gave him a weak nod, breathing deeply with his eyes half closed, almost lost in his arousal.

Harry looked back to the crotch of Remus's trousers, and made quick work of extricating the thick erection from its confines. Harry had yet to suck him off, but he'd more than wanted to after seeing what Remus could do with his mouth. In part, Harry wanted to because it was only fair, given that Remus had done it to him more times than he could count, but the other part of it was he simply _wanted_ to.

Taking a slow breath to steady himself, Harry licked his lips and gave the throbbing organ an experimental lick, then trailed his tongue along the underside of Remus's cock.

At once, Remus hissed and threw his head back, his hips twitching as though he longed to thrust forward, but he tried to hold himself back at the same time. Heartened at his success, Harry closed a hand around the base of Remus's cock, and took the head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he swallowed more of it at a painfully slow pace.

His name was whispered above him like a prayer, Remus trembling and panting as Harry continued, pausing for a brief moment when he'd taken in as much as he could, then began to slowly bob his head. Remus's hips continued to jerk feebly as Harry fell into a comfortably rhythm, and he ignored the feeble mutters above him as he tried to deep-throat the man like Remus had done for him countless times before, but his gag reflex refused to cooperate. He returned to the steady bobbing of his head as he hollowed his cheeks, just as Remus said something that Harry couldn't catch, but it seemed that it had been Remus's attempt to warn Harry that he was close, as a moment later he shot his load into the back of Harry's throat.

Not sure what else to do, he swallowed and tried to keep the grimace from his face at the bitter taste. The idea that Remus had willingly swallowed every time he'd sucked him off gave him pause, and he wondered how anyone could actually _enjoy_ that. Harry glanced up to see Remus slouched back against the bed with a look of absolute bliss upon his face, and he couldn't help but swell with pride at the sight.

“How'd I do?” Harry asked as he crawled up to lie next to him, and leaned in to press a small kiss to the corner of Remus's mouth. Remus laughed softly and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders to draw him closer.

“Passable,” he murmured, his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head.

“Not even an Exceeds Expectations?” Harry looked up at him and grinned, “I guess I'll need to practice.”

“Mm, I'll be _happy_ to tutor you in the fine art of fellatio,” Harry snorted a little, while Remus slid a hand under Harry's shirt, his rough fingerpads tickling his skin.

He tugged Harry's shirt off and tossed the garment carelessly to the floor. Remus leaned forward and traced the edges of Harry's lips with his tongue, and Harry opened his mouth at once to meet Remus in a heated kiss.

At the same time, Remus's hands trailed down his sides to his jeans, and he hooked his thumbs through his jeans and pants, pulling both garments off slowly. Harry lifted himself off the duvet just enough to help him along and kicked off the garment. He let out an appreciative moan as Remus trailed down his front and paused, his hot breath ghosting over Harry's aching cock.

“First,” Remus said in a low purr, “you need to relax,” he brushed his open palm along Harry's inner thigh as he spoke, making him shiver. “If you are tense, it will be more difficult to get your gag reflex to cooperate with you. When you feel ready, you rotate your jaw like so,” Remus paused to demonstrate, rotating his jaw first to the left, then to the right, while the slow buildup was driving Harry mad with want. A small whimper escaped past his lips before he could stop it, and Remus seemed rather pleased with the minute reaction.

“Then,” Remus rolled his lips downwards, “you cover your teeth like so,” Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as his partner's voice took on an almost comical lisp, “to allow for a smooth entrance,” without another word he descended upon Harry and swallowed his cock whole.

As with every other time, the feel of Remus's hot mouth on him was enough to reduce Harry's brain to mush. His hips jerked feebly, while one of Remus's hands slid beneath him to squeeze at his bum. Harry trembled at the dual sensation, a soft, shuddering groan escaping him as his hips jerked forward again, and Remus hummed his pleasure, as though he was the one getting the blow job, instead of the other way around.

Harry felt Remus's hand on his buttocks begin to wander, and suddenly he felt the older man's thumb brush at his hole, and Harry tensed involuntarily. The sensation had surprised him more than scared him, and he hissed a curse as Remus's hand moved away. Harry wasn't certain he was quite ready for _that_ , but how would they know if they didn't try? His thoughts dissolved into blissful nothingness as Remus's hand slid out from under him and reached for his sac, and the dual attentions paid to his cock were enough to distract him, and in an embarrassingly short span of time, Harry cried out as he painted the back of the older man's throat with his seed.

“And that is how it is done,” Remus said softly, smiling lazily while he stretched out next to Harry, one of his arms draped across Harry's stomach while he came down from his post-orgasm high.

“I'll have to remember that,” Harry murmured breathily as he rolled onto his side and curled up in Remus's arms. Though he wanted to discuss his freeze-up, he was too tired and too spent to do so. Instead, he was quite content to leave the discussion for another time, and as he felt a blanket drape over his and Remus's naked forms, he slowly fell asleep, his head pillowed comfortably against Remus's bicep.

  

~*~

 

Harry woke alone the following morning.

For a moment, his brain was foggy and confused, wondering why he felt so damn _good._ Better than he had in months. It took him a moment to remember last night's activities and his mouth stretched into a wide, almost silly smile. Harry reached for his glasses on the bedside table, which he assumed Remus had put there, given that he did not recall taking them off, and pulled them on just as he heard the soft rush of the shower turning on down the hall.

Still feeling a bit naughty and giddy from the previous evening's activities, he slid out of bed and moved towards the door, intending to join him. Harry stopped short however when something on his night table caught his eye—a small box encased in red velvet.

Uncertain how he hadn't noticed it before, Harry picked it up and flicked it open, the simple diamond ring still resting innocently in the centre of the small box, just as Harry remembered it. He wasn't certain _why_ it was out—it had to have been Remus, as after the last time Harry wasn't daft enough to leave it out in plain sight, and he had to wonder why this time around, he had not been subject to a terrifying show of dominance following its discovery. Harry did not know _how_ he could have found it in the first place, given the charm Harry had placed on it, but whatever the reason, he was relieved that Remus seemed to be a little more level-headed about it compared to last time. It was an enormous weight off Harry's shoulders, and proved once and for all that the bond between them was truly starting to settle.

The sight of the ring still pulled at Harry's heart; though now the primary emotion he felt was regret at what Ginny must have gone through these last few months—what _he'd_ put her through. Harry still loved her, and he felt as though a part of him always would, but he knew now without even the slightest doubt that things had changed, and he'd moved on—completely. Smiling softly at this realization, Harry pulled out his wand.

“Goodbye Ginny,” he whispered as he tapped the box once, and it disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

Setting his wand aside with the same soft smile, he went to join Remus in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First attempt at dirty talk for this chapter...not sure how well i did. You guys let me know. Thanks for reading guys :)


	22. Fever Pitch

Chapter 22 – Fever Pitch

 

As Harry's days with Remus turned into weeks, he couldn't help but notice how his love life had begun to mirror the Red Moon case—in the sense that both seemed to be stuck in stasis.

The summer pressed on, there was still no movement from Red Moon. No new deaths, no missing persons cases—nothing. They were stumped as to how such a group could go from frequent double-murders to complete inactivity. It unsettled Harry more than a little, and he couldn't help but feel that something big was on the way.

Harry's love life seemed to be frozen in a similar state. Harry wanted to go further with Remus, but his attempts had lead to no more than hasty hand jobs and mind-blowing oral sex, but nothing further. Harry could not deny that he was still nervous about _the act_ itself, but Remus had misinterpreted this anxiety as Harry not being ready to go further, instead of normal virgin jitters. The lack of progression left them both feeling more than a little dissatisfied, but Remus seemed to be as emotionally stunted as Harry was, and neither knew how to properly address it.

Harry could say the only thing that had vastly improved over the last few weeks was Kreacher's attitude. He did not know what had sparked the sudden change in the elf, but he was now as polite and courteous with Remus as he was with Harry, and no longer complained when Remus kicked him out of the kitchen to cook dinner in his stead. Harry was pleased, though he did sometimes miss the creative insults the elf would mutter towards Remus when he thought no one was listening.

 

It was a soggy day in mid-July when Harry arrived at the office, assuming it would be another day of frustrating dead ends, only to find Ron loitering outside his office. Ron looked up and grinned as he approached, Harry's mouth twitched into a slight half-smile.

“All right?” he asked, feeling a faint twinge of guilt over the fact that they had seen precious little of each other in the last few weeks—though for once, not because Harry had been avoiding him. Both of their supervisors had had their noses to the grindstone over this infuriating case, and even with so many Aurors on it, they'd made little headway in finding out where Red Moon had scampered off to.

“Great,” Ron said as he grinned in an exaggerated way that told Harry he was nervous about _something._ “You?”

“Fine, thanks,” Harry said as he leant against the wall next to the office door and crossed his arms across his chest. “What brings you a whole two doors down?” Ron chuckled, well aware that despite their close quarters, they'd been too busy for more than a passing word here and there recently.

“Your birthday's coming up, and Mum wanted to throw you a party like she usually does, and I said I'd ask if you'd be okay with that.” Harry was surprised, given that he had been somewhat forced to break it off with Ginny last September, but he was flattered all the same. He'd half expected Molly to be cross with him for how things had ended, but perhaps his surrogate son status outweighed her hopes that he might become her son-in-law.

“I'd love to, I'm sure Remus would too, but...” he paused, and frowned a little at his longtime friend, “what about Ginny?” The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward between them, and even after their 'talk', he could not deny that he still felt a little weird at the prospect of seeing Ginny with Remus at his side.

“I don't think that'll be an issue. She's been seeing—er—someone _new_.” Harry couldn't help but smile at how red Ron's ears went, but he was more surprised how the news did not bring out any feelings of jealousy in him, and instead he felt relieved. The last thing he wanted was for Ginny to pine or wallow following their split, and the fact that she was seeing someone new was great to hear.

“Yeah? Who?” Ron's face took on a distinctively sour look at the question.

“Theodore Nott.” Harry almost choked on his own saliva, his reaction coming out as a sputter of disbelief as he stared wide-eyed at Ron.

“You're having me on. Ginny, with the son of a Death Eater?” He shook his head a little and tried to laugh, but Ron remained stony faced. “ _Seriously_?” Harry couldn't help the small smirk of amusement that graced his features, “your Dad must be _thrilled_.”

“Percy told me that he practically hit the roof when she brought him over to meet Mum and Dad the first time,” Ron said with a chuckle, his mouth splitting into a small grin, “he's all right, I guess. It seems like he's being good to her, but still— _Slytherin._ ”

“He must feel right at home in a houseful of Gryffindors,” Harry cocked an eyebrow at Ron, whose ears had begun to reddened again at the comment. Harry bit back a laugh as he asked, “what did you do?”

“Me and George slipped a couple dozen puking pastilles into his tea the first time he visited with the whole family,” Ron's tone was almost wistful, as though he was recalling a precious memory. “Made a right mess of our bathroom and Ginny almost murdered us.” He grinned, “he's taken a leaf out of Imposter Moody's book and won't accept drinks from any of us any more.” They both barked a laugh, just as Auror Caldwell's head poked out of their shared office.

“Are you going to stand in the hall all day or get your arse in here? _Some_ of us have work to do.” Harry quickly sobered up, and nodded at his superior.

“Coming. Oh, and Ron?” He turned back to his friend as he stepped halfway into the office, “For my birthday? We'll be there.”

  

~*~

 

Harry pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head in an attempt to shield his face from the rain. On any other day, Brighton would have been beautiful, but in the hazy grey of the downpour Harry was currently stuck in, it was miserable. He looked down at the crumpled piece of parchment in his hand, and hoped that he wasn't wasting his time in tracking down this werewolf family.

Though Greyback's information had been good, and Ulrich's presence had kept him from being killed on sight, all the larger and mid-sized packs had point-blank refused any help that came from the hands of the Ministry, even if it was someone like Harry who was bound to a werewolf. It wasn't surprising, but it was certainly disheartening that Harry had no way to help them directly. The fact that they took the warnings seriously was a small mercy, and it showed in the way that there had been no werewolf deaths since he'd begun going from territory to territory.

Now that he'd moved on to contacting lone wolves and their spouses he was not as concerned at being attacked by an Alpha, and had forgone Ulrich's 'protection'. He did not dislike the man, but it had become clear over the weeks spent with him that he was interested in Harry, and the effort to be doubly careful that he did not give the werewolf the wrong idea had been stressful, to say the least.

Harry wove through the streets, and could practically feel the crackle of magic across his skin as he passed from muggle Brighton into an area dominated by wizards. The houses were jumbled together with small, old-fashioned looking shops and pubs, and it reminded Harry of Diagon Alley in many ways. He stopped before a small shop called _Wiz-Bangs: Quality Wizarding Fireworks Since 485CE._ Above it was a tiny flat, and Harry circled the shop to a rickety staircase, which he followed up to the front door.

On the landing were two small potted flutterby bushes that almost seemed to be wilting under the torrential downpour. Harry took a slow breath to steady himself, and knocked firmly on the door.

At once the curtain on the inside of the door was pushed aside and he saw a pretty young woman peer out at him, and Harry pulled back his hood enough so that she could see his face. Her eyes widened a little, and she hastened to unlock the door.

“Mr Potter?” She asked, staring at him with wide blue-grey eyes. “How can I help you?” Her voice was high and girlish, and her dusky blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid. Harry smiled at her, hoping to put her mind at ease.

“Mrs Deidre Powell?” She nodded once, “I'm here on behalf of the Auror Office. You're not in any trouble, but we believe that you and your wife might be in danger, and I was hoping to discuss it with the pair of you,” Harry said. The speech was one he'd repeated over a dozen times recently, and he hated how it made him sound less like himself and more like some no-name Ministry grunt.

“A-all right, please, come in,” Deidre said as she stepped aside, and Harry smiled warmly at her as he stepped across the threshold, using a quick drying charm to keep from utterly drenching her front hall.

“Thank you,” he said as he smiled at her again, and she nodded a little, still staring at him with a look of wide-eyed shock.

“Hon?” Another voice joined them, and another woman stepped into the hall, “who is—” she cut herself off when she saw Harry, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. The werewolf of the pair was tall, a few inches taller than he was, with dark skin and chocolate brown eyes shot with gold. Her thick braided hair was pulled from her face by a red bandana, and she was dressed casually in earthy tones of green and brown.

“Lyssa Powell?” Harry asked by way of greeting, but the question was met with a warning growl that he knew well. Certain that he had mere seconds before the woman lost her patience, he began to speak quickly.

“Please,” Harry said as he lifted his hands, palms facing her to show that he meant her no harm. “I'm not here to hurt you,” he began, while the woman who had answered the door looked between the two of them nervously. “I'm here because you and your wife may be in danger, and I just want to offer my help.”

“Say you piece and get out,” Lyssa growled, never taking her eyes off of Harry. She extended an arm and Deidre hurried to the other woman, who pulled the human against her side protectively. The command she seemed to hold over her partner was slightly unnerving, but before Harry had a chance to open his mouth, a soft thundering of footsteps sounded from down the hall, and a pair of twin girls appeared there.

“Mummy, Mummy!” Cried one of the girls, hurrying forward with a plush toy shaped like a crup dangling from her hand, while her sister hung back, holding onto a small plush kneazle. “Whaths going on? Are you and Mama in trouble?” She reached for the werewolf's hand, the little girl's amber eyes reminding him painfully of Remus as he watched the exchange.

“Mercy, Grace,” Lyssa said, a warning growl in her voice that made her daughter stop short, “go with Mama and check on your brother.”

The little girl popped her thumb in her mouth at the sound of her mother's tone, and both girls offered up no complaint as Deidre took them both by the hand and led them back down the hall, murmuring too softly to the children for Harry to catch the words. As they waited, he kept his hands out where the werewolf could see them, having a feeling any movement towards the pockets of his robes could seen as a threat. Within five minutes Deidre had returned, and settled against Lyssa's side again. The respect he saw in her eyes when she looked at her partner left Harry with no doubt about who was in charge in this household.

“I'm assuming you have heard of the group calling itself Red Moon?” Harry asked without preamble. He was certain he'd already more than worn out his welcome, as far as Lyssa was concerned. She inclined her head once while she narrowed her eyes into a glare. “Over the last year it has been cutting a bloody swath through the werewolf community, tracking down and murdering werewolf-human couples. We are concerned that you two may be targeted, and we would like to offer you, your wife, and your children sanctuary until Red Moon is brought to justice.” Harry spoke quickly, but made certain that he spoke clearly, so that there would be no misunderstandings concerning his intent or how very real the threat was. Deidre looked deeply frightened, while Lyssa's hard expression did not change.

“Why would you care? I have not known the Ministry to bat an eyelash at the death of a werewolf,” she growled, baring her teeth at him while Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at the statement. He could guess that perhaps this woman was not as in touch with her instincts as some of the other werewolves he'd met over the last months, as it came as a shock that she could not smell Remus on him.

“I am bound to a werewolf myself,” he said by way of explanation. “I care for him very much, and I would do whatever I could to protect him from harm. I am certain you feel the same about your partner,” Harry did not miss the way her arm tightened around her mate at his words. “We do not want to add your names to a registry, or track the werewolf populations, or whatever else the Ministry has tried to do to your kind in the past. All we want is to keep you safe from these people, I swear.”

The werewolf studied him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Harry could hardly blame her; the Ministry had given the werewolf community very little reason to trust them. Deidre seemed to believe him, but her werewolf companion did not seem convinced. “We shall discuss it, and be in touch should we decide to accept your offer. Good day.”

Harry recognized the dismissal and had no desire to test the woman's patience. He murmured his thanks and stepped back outside, drawing up his hood as he went. He headed down the steps and out of sight of the street before he paused and drew out a quill and a small scroll of parchment with a list of names on it. Next to Deidre & Lyssa Powell he made a little note, then stowed it back inside his robes. While he sent up a small prayer, hoping the couple accepted his help, Harry checked the next name on his list, and Disapparated to Cardiff.

 

The miserable weather followed Harry around for the remainder of the afternoon as he visited one couple after another, and as he went he began to feel more and more demoralized. Those who did not not chase Harry off their property outright were content to give Harry a, “we'll let you know,” answer that clearly alluded to a 'no'.

 _What's the point of being an Auror if no one will accept your help?_ Harry wondered miserably as he Apparated to the end of the street leading up to Number Twelve, knowing he'd need the extra walk to calm down before he got inside. The rain that had chased him around all day had finally cleared up, though the ground was still a soggy, muddy mess. His head was bent forward and he glared at the pavement as he walked, which was unfortunate, as from his vantage point he did not see the enormous, hulking man that approached him.

Harry felt someone grab him by the neck of his robes, and dragged him into the shadowed alley between number seven and nine. He cried out in shock, and grunted as he was thrown into the brick wall. He looked up at his so-called attacker as he drew his wand, stopping short as he recognized the man before him.

“Greyback!” He hissed, but kept his wand clutched firmly in his hand. “What the hell? You scared me half to death!”

The werewolf growled low in his throat, his eyes narrowed at Harry. “I was under the impression you and yours would _protect_ my kind if I disclosed their locations to you.” Harry blinked in confusion, his voice momentarily caught in his throat.

“We're trying, but not many werewolves _want_ our help to begin with. What's happened? Was someone attacked?”

“Your Auror that came to Azkaban with you will likely tell you the same come the morning, but one of the lone wolves I am in regular contact with has been murdered. She and her wife are dead, and her children are traumatized,” the anger and hurt in Greyback's voice was a little surprising, as Harry was still growing used to the fact that Greyback was not the cold, heartless monster he'd once assumed him to be.

“We took them to the pack,” Greyback continued, his voice still little more than an angry growl, “it's where they belong. You are to tell your Aurors that they are not to try and remove them from my territory.” His eyes narrowed into a withering glare, and his arm shot out, closing tightly around Harry's throat. He choked and gagged, struggling as he felt his feet lift from the ground. The move was so sudden that Harry did not have a chance to even try and defend himself, his wand tumbling from his hand from the force of the manoeuvre.

“You will stop these people Potter,” Greyback snarled, tightening his hold to illustrate that it was not an empty threat, and leaned in to hiss, “or _I_ will. Believe me when I say you do not want it to come to that, because you will pay dearly for your ineptitude.” Harry gasped around the hand crushing his windpipe, and his fingers clawed feebly at the heavily muscled forearm. Greyback dropped him, and he crumpled to the ground at the werewolf's feet. Without another word, Greyback Disapparated, leaving Harry alone in the alley.

Harry gingerly brushed his fingers over his throat, wincing a little as he did so, certain that he had the beginnings of a hand-shaped bruise there. More worrying still was the implication that another couple had been murdered, bringing the death toll up to twenty-three. One more pair, and Red Moon would have everything they needed for their mass murder plan to come to fruition. With a small groan Harry forced himself to his feet and hurried down the street, only slowing when he reached the walkway up to the door of Number Twelve.

 

Harry held a hand up as he stepped over the threshold, stopping Remus in his tracks. “Bruise salve first,” he rasped, wincing as even speaking made his throat ache. “You can do unspeakable things to me after.” Remus eyed him quizzically, his nostrils flaring and his expression darkening a little. No doubt he'd be able to scent Greyback on him amidst all the other werewolf scents from those he'd contacted today.

“Bruise. Salve,” Harry said a little more firmly when Remus did not immediately move. His voice seemed to snap Remus out of his Jealous Werewolf daze, and with a quick shake of his head, he moved towards Harry.

“Come sit down, I'll get it for you,” Remus rested a hand against the centre of Harry's back and guided him to the sitting room, sitting him down firmly on the sofa while he flicked his wand with his free hand, summoning the salve without ever leaving Harry's side.

Remus knelt before him and prodded at Harry's throat gently, causing him to wince a little from the dull, throbbing pain. He tilted his head back a little to give Remus better access, and a moment later Harry felt the cool salve brush against his injured flesh. He closed his eyes as Remus massaged it into his skin, the feel of the cooling salve and Remus's hands on him helped him relax, despite the horrid news that had been shared with him not ten minutes earlier. As Remus worked, the scent of Rue and Cedar wafted up to him, and slowly, the pain began to fade.

Harry lowered his head when Remus had pulled away, and opened his eyes as he lifted a hand to brush his fingers over his throat. The skin felt dry and soft, as though nothing had been applied, and the pain was completely gone. Harry smiled at Remus as he reached for his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before he leaned in for a kiss.

“Thanks,” he said as he pulled back, “that's loads better.”

“Now will you tell me what happened?” Remus's hand was tense in his own, and the look Harry saw in his eyes was enough to make him worry that Remus might allow his Protective Werewolf instincts to guide his actions, thus leading him directly into trouble.

Instead of answering, Harry crawled into the older man's lap, effectively straddling him with his knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his hips. Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him, taking his time and relishing the taste of Remus after such a long and frustrating day. “Only if you _promise_ to not lose your head and take off looking for vengeance on my behalf,” Remus rumbled in his throat, a sound Harry could only describe as a purr.

“And if I don't?” Remus asked, his voice husky with desire—though more likely the lust stemmed from his need to re-stake his claim, rather than any other reason. Harry smirked and leaned in for another kiss, taking his time and squirming with delight as he felt Remus's arms link around his waist, holding him there.

“I'll do the cunty dissatisfied wife thing and withhold sex,” Harry murmured with a grin while Remus barked a laugh, and he kissed Harry again. True they hadn't had sex yet in the strictest sense of the word, but Harry had no idea how else to describe their enthusiastic oral sex without grumbling in frustration at Remus's apparent reluctance to go further. Harry just wished he would get over whatever was holding him back and just _fuck_ him already.

“You couldn't withhold sex if your life depended on it,” Remus murmured against Harry's mouth, pulling back after nipping lightly at his bottom lip. Harry just barely managed to swallow the moan of frustration at the loss.

“Now,” Remus said, shifting back to a more neutral tone, “tell me why Greyback accosted you.”

It didn't come as a surprise to Harry that Remus had known who had attacked him, even more surprising was the calm and collected tone in which he posed the question. Harry had half-expected Remus to go tearing after Greyback in a rage The mention of the Alpha made Harry's feelings of helplessness surrounding the whole Red Moon case come crashing down around him. It was beginning to feel more and more like stopping them was _impossible._

“There was another attack,” Harry began, his heart constricting a little with guilt at the thought of it. “He was furious that we failed to protect them. He threatened to go after Red Moon himself if we don't do something soon,” Harry thought it best to omit the threat of what Greyback promised to do to _him_ , should they fail. Harry paused, his eyes downcast as he fiddled with a loose thread on Remus's cardigan. “I don't blame his behaviour, but it's hard to help people who don't want my help and hate me for being a Ministry Wizard.”

“That isn't your fault Harry,” one hand began to run up and down his back as he spoke, “you can only help people who allow you to help them. You can't hold yourself accountable for being unable to protect someone who refused your help because of their pride, or some other silly reason.”

“I know,” Harry heaved a soft sigh, “it's just frustrating.”

 

The overwhelming depression at Greyback's information followed Harry around that evening like a bad odour. Throughout dinner and into their quiet evening routine Remus did not say a word, but Harry was not oblivious to the worried, but thoughtful glances he frequently shot Harry's way.

“Harry,” Remus said suddenly, setting down his teacup and reaching for his hands, the voice and movements snapping Harry out of his daze.

“What is it?” He asked, a little alarmed by the strangely intense look Remus was giving him. Instead of answering, he pulled Harry in for a gentle kiss, sweeping him to his feet at the same time. When he finally broke the kiss Harry was left rather breathless, and he could all but guess what was coming, if the hardness pressing against his thigh was any indication. Would this finally be it? Harry was dizzy with anticipation while he waited for his partner to speak.

“Allow me the honour,” Remus murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against the hollow of Harry's throat, “just for tonight, of letting you forget.” One hand moved to caress Harry's cheek, and Harry shivered with desire at the contact. He didn't understand Remus's sentiment exactly, but he was not so thick as to not realize what he was hinting at. _Finally,_ Harry thought, and leaned in to kiss him.

Taking that as an answer, Remus led Harry upstairs. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest so hard and so loudly, he was almost certain Remus would be able to hear it. For once, his increased heartbeat was in anticipation instead of fear, and it took all of his strength to keep from running straight into the bedroom with Remus in tow.

The deliberately slow pace in which Remus moved was almost infuriating, but at least he wasn't carrying him—which was a relief. At long last they made it to their bedroom, and Harry paused just long enough to close the door.

Harry kissed him, both from the swelling of emotion and lust that filled him, and to shut Remus up. Harry knew him well enough that Remus would want to stop and _discuss_ this show of emotional healing from his Christmas debacle with his friends, and Harry would much rather move on.

Seeming to understand the unspoken sentiment, Remus kissed him and began to shepherd Harry towards the bed, stopping only when they'd reached the edge, the backs of Harry's knees bumping firmly against the mattress.

Harry shifted back, Remus following his movements until they were half-on, half-off the bed. Remus broke the kiss long enough for them to climb up properly, then the older man was on him again. He coaxed Harry's mouth open with lips and tongue, kissing with slow, languorous movements while one hand snaked under his T-shirt and slowly began to ease the garment off.

The barely-controlled haste in Remus's movements became slightly more obvious as Harry lifted his arms up to help him remove the garment, and the quick, final yank he employed to remove it dislodged Harry's glasses quite spectacularly. Chuckling, he pulled them back on his face, and the warm look that he saw on Remus's face made his heart flutter in a way he could not recall ever feeling before.

Harry reached up, his thumb trailing across the older man's cheekbone, and Harry found that he had no idea what to say—what he _could_ say. It felt as though his voice had caught in his throat, the onslaught of emotions that rushed through him so varied and intense that he could not begin to name what he was feeling.

Remus saved Harry from speaking by leaning in again and kissing him gently, his left hand resting against his sternum, then trailed slowly down his front. Harry arched his hips in an obvious hint, and Remus chuckled a little, indulging Harry as he popped the buttons on his jeans open. As with everything else Remus had done throughout the evening, it was painfully slow, and it took great strength on Harry's behalf to keep himself from crying out, _get on with it!_

At last the last button was loosed, and Harry took it upon himself to shimmy out of his jeans and pants, as well as his socks. He eased back on the blankets, trying valiantly to ignore Remus's soft, amused chuckle at his clear impatience. Instead, he arched back up and kissed Remus just as softly as Remus had kissed him, and tugged gently at the front of the older man's cardigan.

“Come on,” Harry murmured against his mouth, “I want to see you.”

“Then see me,” Remus murmured just as softly, “undress me.”

Something in the request made Harry tremble, and he reached forward to begin unbuttoning the garments he wore, while he marvelled at the fact that Remus hadn't died of heat stroke—it had to be at least twenty degrees outside, how was the man not dying in a wool cardigan and long-sleeved shirt?

Harry pushed both garments off Remus's shoulders, his skin hot under Harry's hands. The shirt stopped at Remus's elbows, and he stood to shed his trousers and discard the top garments at the same time. Harry grinned and shamelessly allowed his eyes to rove over his partner's naked form, taking in every part of him with a hungry gaze. He felt his cock twitch at the sight, and he nearly moaned out loud. Remus did not miss the reaction, and smirked in a very un-Remus sort of way as he looked on.

Remus crawled back onto the bed, his slow, deliberate movements almost predatory as he stared down at Harry, his eyes hungry with desire. Harry lay back and grinned as Remus climbed on top of him and captured his lips in a heated, domineering kiss.

Harry squirmed beneath him experimentally, and moaned at the sound of the soft rumble of a growl that escaped the werewolf. Remus _needed_ to dominate him. The knowledge was strange and exciting at once, but each move of his body, each brush of his mouth was slow and cautious, clearly struggling to balance what the wolf in him needed, and what the man _wanted_.

Despite this clear werewolf need, Harry was more relaxed than he had expected to be when faced with such a situation. They'd come so far since _the incident_ , and Harry knew that the bond had calmed enough that now it did not matter no matter how far gone Remus went, Harry would be able to call him back.

Unfortunately, Remus seemed quite content to kiss Harry into oblivion instead of giving him anything that resembled some kind of release. Harry whimpered and arched his hips in another obvious hint, though otherwise he kept his body still.

“I want you,” Harry breathed as the kiss broke, _“please,”_ Harry all but whimpered the word, having no idea how to make his consent any clearer.

Easing back a little, Harry lay slack and panting beneath the werewolf as Remus trailed his hands slowly down Harry's sides, and stopped at his hips. Harry whined plaintively, arching his hips slightly, and grinned when Remus descended upon him once more, his tongue twisting with Harry's while Remus ghosted his hand over his aching prick.

Harry whimpered into the older man's mouth, arching his hips in an effort to garner more contact and friction, but Remus merely chuckled and moved his hand further away. Harry had begun to contemplate spitting a desperate, scathing remark at his partner for all his teasing, when Remus broke the kiss abruptly and murmured the two words Harry had been waiting to hear: “Roll over.”

Harry obeyed at once, turning onto his stomach and pressing his cheek into the mattress, and tried to keep his mild fear off his face. No matter how much he wanted this, he could not deny that he was still nervous. He heard Remus puttering about in the night table drawer on his side, then he pressed a gentle kiss between Harry's shoulder blades. “Relax,” he murmured softly against Harry's skin, “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

Remus grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and eased it under Harry's hips, then began to plant soft kisses along his spine. A slick finger began to trace the cleft of his arse, and Harry's breath hitched in surprise. Remus gently eased Harry's thighs apart, murmuring words of reassurance as he went and ever so slowly, the digit moved to Harry's virgin entrance. Remus swirled his finger against the tight pucker of muscle, Harry's anticipation and nervousness both mounted, and with careful, slow movements, Remus gently slid the finger inside.

Harry gasped, surprised by the sudden invasion. He was struck more by the strangeness of the sensation than any actual pain, and he nodded at once to indicate that he wasn't hurt, and just as slowly Remus slid it in to the knuckle. He allowed it to rest inside Harry for a moment, the curled it forward, and it brushed against a particular spot inside him.

Pleasure radiated through Harry at once, and he gasped sharply. “Oh _God,”_ Harry breathed, his hands clenching into fists as he clutched at the duvet, while he heard the soft sound of Remus chuckling behind him. He slid the finger halfway out, and back in just as slowly, angling it to brush against his prostate again, eliciting another cry from Harry.

He added a second finger and gave Harry a moment to grow accustomed to it before resuming the slow movements, scissoring his fingers apart with every alternate thrust as Remus prepared him for what was to come.

After several long but deeply pleasurable minutes, Remus removed his fingers completely. Harry whimpered at the loss, though almost at once Remus shifted, and the tip of his cock brushed against Harry's entrance. Remus gripped tightly to Harry's hips, and very slowly began to slide inside him.

Harry's breath hitched, and his hold on the blanket tightened. The sensation burned slightly, as Remus's cock was much thicker than a pair of fingers ever could be. At his vocalization Remus paused, and as the burning faded into the background he gave his partner a small nod, indicating he could continue.

Remus slid all the way into Harry, with consistently slow and cautious movements, while Harry in turn marvelled how something could feel so _strange_ and so _right_ at the same time. His arse felt almost uncomfortably full, but at the same time, he loved the feeling—much more than he ever imagined that he would. With the same caution he'd used in preparing Harry, Remus began to slide out of him, then thrust back in, his motions a little shaky, like a tightly coiled spring being held in place.

Harry moaned and clutched tightly to the blanket beneath him as he moved his hips somewhat awkwardly, following the older man's thrusts, while his own cock dampened the bedspread with his precome. The vocalization spurred Remus forward, and his thrusts gradually began to speed up. Harry grunted his approval, lost in the dizzying sensation as Remus's cock brushed his prostate with every alternate thrust.

Remus's thrusts sped up and little by little became more erratic, while Harry gyrated his hips in time with his partner's thrusts, rutting himself against the pillow beneath him, his breath escaping him in feeble grunts and moans of pleasure. It took considerably less time than Harry had expected, his orgasm staining the pillow and his stomach, while Remus came a moment later, painting Harry's insides with his seed.

Panting, Remus slumped on top of Harry, and Harry felt his quickly cooling semen squish uncomfortably against his skin. They lay in the sweaty, sticky afterglow motionlessly for a moment, both breathing deeply as they came down from their respective orgasms. At last, Remus slid out of Harry, leaving him feeling strangely empty. He rolled onto his side and Harry immediately shifted into the waiting embrace, and sighed blissfully when Remus's arms wrapped around him.

“That was _amazing_ ,” Harry breathed, his eyes closed while he pressed a light kiss to Remus's chest, too low to reach the man's mouth, and having absolutely no desire to move.

“I'm glad it meets with your approval,” there was a sleepy amusement in Remus's tone of voice, and Harry grinned, curling up closer to him, while Remus grabbed his wand and waved it lazily, cleaning up the sticky mess and conjuring a blanket over both of them. Harry could not recall the last time he'd felt so calm, so at peace.

True to his word, Remus had allowed Harry to forget, at least for a little while. The mind-blowing sex had taken up the space in his mind that was usually clogged up with the stresses of his job. The peace it brought was something Harry had sorely needed, and somehow Remus seemed to have known that. In his near-sleep bliss, Harry did not have the strength to utter his gratitude, but Remus seemed to understand, a protective arm draped over him and a peaceful smile on his face as he finally allowed sleep to take him.

  

~*~

  

True to Greyback's word, a file was dropped on Harry's desk the moment he turned up to work that morning. He opened it and grimaced at the sight before him; he'd seen the same mortal wounds inflicted on all the other victims, but no matter how many times he saw them, they were no less unpleasant. Recognizing Lyssa and Deidre Powell in the photographs made him feel sick; he could not understand why, but their wounds seemed more viciously inflicted than the ones they'd seen on the previous victims. Knowing that they were almost at the twelve double murders that they needed for their plan to work made it even worse, and Harry was once again overcome with guilt at his heretofore inability to stop it.

“You don't seem overly surprised by this development,” Caldwell observed, still standing over Harry at his desk.

“A certain infamous werewolf broke the news to me last night.” Harry replied, flipping through the file to see if there was anything new to be garnered from these two latest murders. “I was kind of hoping he was exaggerating to shake me up, if I'm being honest.”

“He didn't hurt you, did he?” The concern in Caldwell's tone caused Harry's head to snap up in surprise, but frowned at once at the look he saw in her eyes. It wasn't concern—it was hope. Hope for an excuse to toss Greyback back in Azkaban. He was getting so tired of that attitude, but he didn't bother to address it. At the moment, they had more important things to worry about.

“Nothing disfiguring,” he replied in an offhanded sort of way, returning his attention to the file, “he was right, though, we need to step up and stop this. We don't have a whole lot of time left.”

“And where do you suggest we start, Potter?” Harry cringed a little at her tone, “no leads to speak of, save a few children so emotionally scarred that most of them have yet to regain their speech, and using Legilimency on a child would be far too damaging.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but at the same moment Ron burst into the room, a little red-faced, as though he'd been running. “Harry—Caldwell, we need to go, now. We got an anonymous tip on our end, and it looks like it's the real deal.”


	23. Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The wifi at the library where i usually update is down so I'm updating this on mobile :/ any major formatting fuckups i will fix when i can.

Chapter 23 – Downfall

Harry and Caldwell wasted no time with pleasantries, but hastened to follow Ron back to his office. “What's this tip?” Harry ran to catch up with Ron, huffing a little to keep up with the ginger's long legs.

“Auror Watson got the tip, a series of photographs from an abandoned muggle factory in Glasgow. It looks like it might be their headquarters. Auror MacDonald is setting up a portkey, and Auror Smith is rounding up as many people that can be spared. We're finishing this Harry,” Harry and Ron grinned, their old mad, running straight into danger expressions crossing both their faces as they hurried towards the office.

Inside, there was a crowd of at least fifteen people, most of whom were seasoned Aurors. He and Ron were easily the youngest in the room, but age didn't matter as they had proven more than once that they could pull their own weight. Harry did not miss the few dirty looks shot his way however, most of the other Aurors still hadn't forgiven him for ensuring Greyback's release.

“Everyone! Your attention please!” A dark-skinned woman with her hair wrapped in a dark blue headscarf was standing on a chair, waving her arms to call attention to herself.

“My name is Auror Mahamari Sahir, I'm in charge of this op. We will be leaving in five minutes, so please get as close to the portkey as you can,” she motioned to a dented teakettle on the desk next to her, “those of you not touching the portkey, hold _tightly_ onto someone who is. I'm leading this operation, and remember: we're trying to take as many alive as we can, but kill _only_ if you have no other choice. We do not know how many bases of operations Red Moon has, this might not be the only one. We'll need the Red Moon members taken alive if we're to get any information out of them, and we'll get more information out of their mouths than gaping holes in their corpses. All right, everyone ready? In position please!”

Sahir jumped off the chair, and a tight group of eight squeezed in around the kettle. Harry, Ron, and a handful of others gripped tightly to the forearm of others in their group, so as to not be left behind. Harry felt a thrill of nervous excitement run through him as he tightened his grip on the older man next to him.

This is it, Harry thought as they waited for the portkey to activate, _I can finally make the world safe for us again. For Remus._ His heart swelled at the thought of the older man, and he shook his head a few times in an effort to focus. It would not do to get distracted by his personal life right now. Harry turned his head and caught Ron's eye. He grinned, and Harry nodded his head, returning the gesture just as he felt the all-too familiar sensation of a hook behind his navel, and they sped away in a whirl of colour.

 

~*~

 

Their feet slammed into tall grass, and half of the group toppled over as they landed. Harry groaned, pulling himself up and looked around to see where they were.

They were in a wide, grassy field off to the side of a deserted stretch of highway. Across from where they stood were a clutch of old, abandoned muggle factories. Grey buildings with tall, narrow chimneys, and large white numbers painted onto the sides. It was quiet; eerily quiet. The rush of wind through the field was the only sound Harry could pick out, and the dead silence was deeply unsettling.

“Everyone all right?” Sahir's voice snapped Harry from his daze, and he turned to face their appointed leader. A few groans answered her question, but she pressed on even as the other Aurors were pulling themselves to their feet.

“The tip told us that Red Moon are holed up in Number Forty-Two, that building there.” She turned and pointed to another of the nondescript factories, further back from the rest and almost completely hidden from view. “We will do this in teams of five, and close in around the three main exits to the north, south, and west. I'm in charge of team one, Potter, Weasley, Smith, Carter, you're with me,” Harry nodded once, and he approached Sahir with Ron at his side. “Caldwell, you take Palmer, Keyes, McKay, and Wynn. The rest of you with Ford. Standard Shepherd Formation. All clear? Let's go.”

Without waiting to see if her words were clear. The three groups separated, Sahir leading them across the road under a number of Disillusionment Charms and Perception Shift spells, and they headed for the back of the building. Harry knew the other two groups would head in the front and the side, boxing in the wizards they sought.

As they crossed into the forest of grey buildings, Harry felt strangely claustrophobic, as the space between one building at the next was barely wide enough to walk side-by-side with Ron. Harry had half a mind to say something to his friend, anything to break the tense silence, but he knew that that would be an incredibly stupid thing to do, especially when they were trying not to be seen.

They found the building they wanted, circled to the back. Sahir approached the door and flicked her long and narrow wand at it, muttering under her breath as she carefully broke the locking charms, while being cautious to layer new spells over top, so as to not alert Red Moon to their presence.

Once the door was unlocked, the group of five flattened themselves against the metal siding of the factory. Sahir whispered a spell, and a fox Patronus scampered away from them. Within five minutes, both a silvery heron and a monitor came towards them, disappearing as quickly as they had come. Harry knew that this was the signal that everyone was in position and ready to go.

Harry exchanged a look with Ron and they both grinned wildly. They turned and Sahir opened the door, motioning for them to follow quietly. Harry took a deep breath to steady himself and drew his wand, his hand clutching the handle so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

The inside of the building was dimly lit and awash in yellow light from the electric fixtures in the ceiling. A pair of guards were crumpled on either side of the door, stunned, bound, their wands tucked into Sahir's belt. Harry fell into step behind her, and ahead of them they could hear a number a noises that didn't seem to fit together—the hysterical, terrified screams of a woman and man, cold, cruel laughter layered over it, and a low murmur of voices that seemed completely unconcerned with the distress of the first two.

Sahir held up a hand and her little group stopped at once. She held a finger to her lips, and motioned her hand to either side of the narrow hallway they had stopped before. Understanding the silent command, the group hid out of sight of the hallway, at the same time that a loud explosion met their ears.

Screams, shouts, and loud bangs echoed through the factory, and the voice of Caldwell cried out from the hall they stood to the side of, just as two people came rushing through towards the back door. “Civilians! Let them through!” Harry lowered his wand and the two people hastened for the door, wide-eyed and limping, blood staining both of their torsos.

At the same moment, another person tore through the hall, though this time it was clearly a Red Moon grunt trying to re-capture their lost prey. He crumpled to the ground quickly and was bound as Harry cast a stunner at the same moment that Ron cast the binding spell.

The group stayed in place, cutting off the escape of the Red Moon members that panicked and tried to get away. Harry could hear the distant shouts and cries of his fellow Aurors duelling the Red Moon people, and he was itching to join them. He stepped from foot to foot impatiently, and Sahir shot him a glare that clearly said _don't you dare_. Harry resigned himself to staying put and knocking out the Red Moon cowards, and soon they had a nice pile of bound and unconscious bodies piled by the back door.

The sounds beyond their station had dulled to shouts of the Aurors clearly beginning to outnumber the Red Moon people, and at last Sahir motioned for them to follow her. They entered the fray.

They ran full-tilt down the narrow hallway into a large, expansive room alight with curses flying every which way. Harry leaned back just in time to avoid being hit with a bright green jet, and turned to see a large, muscled man dressed in robes a violent shade of red, his face contorted with rage. Harry couldn't help the giddy smirk that crossed his face as he shot off a curse of his own, which was deflected all-too easily. Both parties seemed to realize that they had underestimated their opponent, and the duel began with renewed ferocity.

Harry cast his spells so fast his hand was little more than a blur, his attention focused on the man he fought. He could distantly hear the cries and yells of his companions and their enemies around them, but he did not allow his attention to waver. His shield charm barely deflected a rather nasty slicing curse, and his opponent just barely managed to dodge Harry's answering stunning spell.

It was not for nothing that Harry was generally so well-regarded among the young Aurors, and it did not take long for Harry to find the opening he had been waiting for, and the large man crumpled to his knees as Harry cast a set of ropes to bind him. He did not pause, and turned to another Red Moon member, drawing their fire off Caldwell and over to him.

It seemed to not be enough, and Harry's gaze whipped back to his superior when he heard her cry out. He watched with wide-eyed horror as she went down, her face screwed up with pain as she clutched at her shoulder, deep red flooding the blue of her robes. His distraction cost him dearly, and he cried out in pain as a curse hit him squarely between his shoulders. He was lifted off his feet and flew across the room, falling in a heap and badly skinning his palms on the cement floor.

Harry sat up with a groan, his limbs shaking in shock from the attack, and he turned his gaze to Caldwell, still alive—but only just. Her hand was gripping her shoulder which was bleeding profusely, while she struggled to turn and look at him, the meaning in her eyes clear. Finish this. A lump in his throat, Harry stood and turned, just in time to see another overlarge man in red, grinning toothily at him. This one, however, Harry recognized all too well.

Taggert.

“The werewolf's famous whore is all mine!” Taggert snarled as he tore toward Harry. The barb at Remus made Harry see red, and he shot a curse at the leering man. Taggert was stronger than the others he'd faced thus far, his eyes were blazing with hatred, as though Harry's mere presence was of personal insult to him. He deflected Harry's curse with ease, and shot a bone-shattering curse at Harry. This time Harry was not as lucky, and the violet light hit its target.

Harry cried out in pain as the curse hit his left shin and he fell to one knee. Despite the near-unbearable pain, Harry refused to take his eyes off his opponent. In his peripheral vision he could see that most of his comrades had stopped fighting, and had encircled Harry and Taggert. Had they won? Was Taggert the last? He didn't dare allow his mind to wander too far, and watched as Taggert approached, grinning in a way that told Harry that he thought he'd won. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, and before he had a chance to speak, Harry shot off one well-aimed disarming spell. The man was knocked back in his surprise as his wand spun through the air, which Ron leapt up and caught.

“ _Incarcerous!_ ” Harry cried, and the man roared angrily as tight ropes encircled him. Taggert wobbled for a moment, then fell heavily to his knees.

 

Silence fell. Harry finally looked around him, and saw his colleagues and partners standing around him in a semicircle a little worse for wear, covered in cuts, bruises, and dust, with some of them leaning on one another to stay standing. Harry felt his throat close when he saw that Caldwell was not one of them.

Red Moon had fallen. Its members lay dead, unconscious, or bound around them. Harry turned his gaze back to Taggert, and began to pull himself to his feet, which was rather difficult, given that his left shin was utterly useless. Ron rushed over to help him, and Harry kept his wand trained on the so-called fearless leader while he leant on his friend to stay standing.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” Harry said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. He wanted to jump and whoop, but now wasn't the time. Not all of them had made it out of this battle unscathed, and Harry would not feel safe until this poor excuse for a man was locked away.

“This isn't the end,” Taggert growled, ignoring Harry's baited words, “Red Moon will rise again and rid our world of the Lycanthropic plague once and for all!”

“Looks like the end from where I'm standing,” Harry observed, but instead of the words despairing the captured head, or angering him further, he laughed.

“The werewolf slut thinks he's won, that's adorable,” Taggert purred, while Harry narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. What was he up to? Taggert's lack of despair at being caught was deeply unsettling.

“Underestimating us will be your downfall,” Taggert growled, then cried out, “Traiectus tempus atmosphera pari!”

The very air around them seemed to bend, and several of Harry's colleagues cried out in surprise when a white flash like a sudden bolt of lightning engulfed the room for barely a split second. Taggert disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of scorched rope.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Harry turned wide-eyed to Sahir, who had been standing a few feet from him, her face and robes smudged with dust and grime, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

“Emergency atmospheric shift,” she replied with an angry hiss, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. “It's an extreme form of Apparition. Instead of forcing your entire being as a whole from one place to another, you're deconstructed to your base elements, and reformed instantly somewhere else. It's incredibly dangerous, and banned by the Ministry because of how badly wrong it can go. I had no idea Taggert had mastered it, otherwise I would have been more thorough with my Anti-Apparition wards around this place. Now's not the time to discuss it though, we need to get some of you to St Mungo's, and we need to have Magical Law Enforcement come to collect the scum.” Harry was rather grateful that she wasn't planning on an in-depth discussion, given that with his adrenaline slipping away from him, his leg was really starting to hurt.

Sahir turned from them and began to fire off a few more talking fox Patronuses, while Harry felt Ron give his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“We made it, we _did_ it,” Ron said with a smile. Harry's gaze strayed to where Caldwell still lay.

“Not all of us.”

 

~*~

Harry was never keen on how _sterile_ hospitals always smelled.

It didn't matter if it was a magical hospital or a muggle one, they always smelled the same. At least the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts had always been devoid of that particular odour. Unfortunately, there was no way for Harry to justifiably ask at nearly age twenty-two to go back to his old school to recuperate.

As a result, Harry found himself occupying one of the hospital beds at St Mungo's, with his leg elevated in some sort of sling. His calf and foot had swollen and changed to a delightful shade of purple by the time he'd been seen, and he had been in quite a lot of pain—even for him.

On his side table rested an empty smoking goblet, and the potion he'd taken was working to rearrange the bones in his shin back into the right order. It was only after this potion had done its job that he would be allowed to destroy his œsophagus with a healthy dose of Skele-Gro.

Harry was sharing the room he currently occupied with three of his fellow Aurors, none of them seriously injured, but badly hurt enough to warrant an overnight stay at the hospital. Ron had been more or less unhurt, and he had promised to let Remus and Hermione know what had happened. His roommates were all asleep, dosed up with Dreamless Sleep and a number of healing draughts, and Harry found the silence and his lack of mobility painfully boring.

 

A soft knock on the door snapped Harry from his daze and he looked up, his mouth splitting into a wide grin. Remus stood there uncertainly, with Ron's flaming hair just visible behind him. The sight of his partner filled him with a swell of joy, especially considering what he'd just done for him—the world was safe again for Remus—Taggert's unfortunate escape notwithstanding.

“Hey,” Harry said as he tried to sit up further, but it did nothing but aggravate his leg, and he fell back onto his pillows with a grimace. At his show of pain Remus hurried in, conjured a chair and sat down at Harry's side, smiling weakly. Harry couldn't tell if it was worry or joy he was seeing on his partner's face, but he liked to think that it was probably a combination of the two.

Harry reached out just as Remus did the same, and their fingers laced together. Harry felt almost as though some great weight had been lifted from him with that simple gesture, and as Remus carded his fingers through Harry's hair with his free hand, Harry's eyes fluttered shut at the contact. Remus pressed a kiss to Harry's temple, while Harry squeezed the older man's hand reassuringly.

“I'm okay,” Harry said softly as he opened his eyes, looking up into the worried gaze of his partner. “I'll be out of here tomorrow, good as new.”

“Er—” both Harry and Remus's gazes snapped up, having entirely forgotten Ron's presence for a moment. He looked rather embarrassed at witnessing a show of affection between them, the evidence for that in how his flush had crept past his ears, and was colouring his cheeks. Harry smiled weakly, too worn out to be properly embarrassed.

“I'll be outside, if you need anything,” Ron said quickly, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at his friend's continued embarrassment.

“Yeah, thanks Ron,” Harry grinned, and watched as his best mate went—if possible—even redder. He hurried out of the ward without another word.

The moment the door snapped shut, Harry refocused his gaze of Remus. His smile relaxed from an exaggerated grin of amusement to one of peaceful calm, the older man's free hand still stroking his hair in a repetitive, soothing touch.

“If you keep doing that,” Harry said, his voice barely above a mumble, “I'm gonna fall asleep.” Harry's eyes fluttered shut to illustrate his point and Remus chuckled softly in response. Harry heard the chair squeak against the floor minutely as Remus shifted to press a light kiss to his lips. Harry reached up with his free hand and gripped the back of Remus's neck, holding him there for a moment longer than the chaste kiss his partner had probably planned.

“Keep kissing me like that and I won't be able to give you _any_ of the rest you need,” Remus murmured the words softly, as though concerned that his roommates might hear him, and Harry snickered. He released his neck reluctantly and slumped back onto the pillows, but held fast to Remus's hand. “Why don't you tell me about your big battle,” his free hand returned to running through Harry's hair, and Harry closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

With his eyes still shut, he told Remus what had happened, from the random anonymous tip to their trip to Glasgow and the onslaught of Red Moon. Harry felt initially that there wasn't much to tell, but before he knew it he had been speaking for a solid quarter of an hour, his words becoming steadily more slurred as the hand in his hair relaxed him into a sleepy state.

“It sounds like you had quite the adventure,” Remus mused as Harry finished, and he nodded his head.

“We still don't know who even sent the tip, and we still need to find Taggert,” Harry mumbled, turning his head to the side to stifle a wide yawn. He opened his bleary eyes to his partner, who looked pleasantly amused. “It was a big mistake to underestimate him; he's really dangerous.”

“Don't worry yourself about that now,” Remus reached out and removed Harry's glasses. He allowed it, watching the blur of his partner setting his glasses aside on his night table. “Rest, and when you're back on your feet you can worry about Taggert,” Harry nodded, and squeezed Remus's hand lightly.

“Stay with me?” Harry asked, and Remus's large hand tightened over his own.

“Always.”

 

~*~

 

Harry yelped, toppling back as he and Remus landed on the top step of Grimmauld Place. Remus's arm shot out at once to catch him, and Harry felt his face go a little red in embarrassment at his own clumsiness.

“Come on,” Remus said with an amused grin, “let's get you inside.”

Still slightly red-faced, Harry allowed himself to be escorted inside, his gait still a little more stiff than he was used to.

“I don't see why I have to be off work for the rest of the week,” Harry grumbled, pulling off his cloak and hanging it up as they crossed the threshold.

“You didn't just break your leg Harry,” Remus said patiently, as though he hadn't pointed this fact out to him for what was likely the hundredth time, “the bone was shattered. You need to rest, not go running off after more dark wizards the second you're discharged from hospital.” Remus pushed him down onto the sofa and elevated his leg, and Harry struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. Remus glowered at Harry, as though daring him to complain.

“I'll rest,” Harry conceded at last, “on the condition that you stop mothering me. I'm _fine_ ,” Harry said, reaching up to grab Remus's wrist as the older man turned towards the kitchen. “I'd appreciate you keeping me company, though,” he said while he gave the limb a gentle tug. Remus smiled a little as he allowed himself to be pulled down next to Harry.

Harry shifted a little to get comfortable, and moved to rest his head on Remus's shoulder. The older man's hand lifted immediately to toy with the flyaway tufts at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry shivered a little, the light touches tickling his skin, while he draped an arm casually across Remus's midsection.

“We need to talk about this weekend,” Harry said, staring at Remus's cardigan while he tugged at the loose threads absently. Remus closed his hand over Harry's to stop him picking at it.

“What's this weekend?” He asked, while Harry looked up to see if he'd actually forgotten, or if he was playing. From his confused expression, it seemed to be the former.

“My birthday. Ron invited us over so that Molly can overfeed me to the exploding point, remember?” Harry watched the cogs click into place in Remus's head, telling him that the man suddenly recalled what Harry had told him more than a week earlier.

“Ah yes, twenty-two. That reminds me, I need to get you a birthday gift,” Remus said, chuckling when Harry felt himself go red.

“You don't have to get me anything...” Harry began, but his words were cut short by a feather-light kiss.

“Nonsense. It's not every day that a young man turns twenty-two, and you deserve some good fun, especially after all you've been through these last ten months,” Remus practically purred the words, a hand stroking the back of Harry's neck while he spoke softly. Harry struggled to swallow a moan of longing. He knew for a fact that Remus would be too worried about his leg to try engaging Harry in any sort of strenuous activity.

“Just...don't go out of your way Remus, I really don't need anything, okay?” Harry looked back down to the warm hand that covered his own, and he felt a fluttering in his chest. A number of terribly cheesy sentiments fluttered to the forefront of his mind, chief among them _all I need is you_ , but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

“I'm bringing it up,” Harry continued while he strove to quash his embarrassment at his silly, romantic thoughts, “because, well, I know the bond is settled and everything,” Harry faltered for a moment, his tone a little apprehensive, “but you still get a little...grabby, at times.” Harry kept his eyes down to avoid the confused and mildly hurt look that was boring into the side of his head. “I just don't want to throw it in Ginny's face. I mean, she has a new boyfriend now, but I still don't want to rub her nose in it, you know?” Harry grimaced at the implication, and Remus's hands on him tensed a little.

“I understand, and don't think it will be a problem,” he said at last. Harry could hear the slight sadness in his tone, and he squirmed guiltily. Remus shifted, grabbing Harry's chin gently to his head up a little, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. As they broke apart Remus murmured softly, “I will endeavour to keep my hands off you."


	24. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING there is a detailed sequence of violence and gore in this chapter. Probably not a brilliant idea to eat while you read it. (It's about 2/3 of the way through the chapter, if you want to skip it, and when I say gore, I _mean_ gore.)

Chapter 24 - Revenge

 

“I thought you were supposed to be on Medical Leave?” Remus's asked.

The older man's fingertips brushed over the back of Harry's neck, effectively distracting him from the spread of files and victim photographs that littered the coffee table. Harry's dress robes from Caldwell's funeral lay draped over the side of the sofa, and he sat there in his best black trousers and dress shirt with his tie loosed. Unable to detach his mind from the case that had taken his mentor away from him, he found himself going over the reports for what felt like the hundredth time.

“I know,” Harry replied with a small sigh, his gaze focused on the mess of papers, “I just...Taggert's still out there, I can't just _sit_ here and wait for more people to die because I didn't do something.”

“As I understand it, there's over a dozen Aurors working on this case,” Remus said, sitting at Harry's side, his knee bumping the younger man's gently, “and I do recall Mr Weasley informing me at the funeral that the collected energy from the other ritual murders has been dispersed, so there's no chance of them creating another _Nexbolus_ any time soon. You need to relax. The world won't end because Harry Potter took some time for himself.”

“You don't know that,” Harry muttered, glaring at the papers in front of him. He felt a hand trail up his spine and curl around the back of his neck, then ever so slowly coaxed Harry to shift his gaze from the paperwork to his partner.

Remus brushed his lips over Harry's in a feather-light kiss, then upon receiving no resistance he deepened it, Harry's eyes fluttering shut while his fingertips curled into the fabric of Remus's shirt, uncertain whether he wanted to push Remus away or pull him closer.

“What I know,” Remus murmured against Harry's mouth, “is that you are an incredibly brave and selfless young man who would do anything for anyone at the drop of a hat. Perhaps it is no bad thing to do something for yourself once in a while, like allow yourself some time to rest, to recover...” Remus glanced at the discarded dress robes, “...and to grieve.”

“I know,” Harry said with a frustrated sigh, “It's just...I don't think I'll be able to relax until Taggert is caught. He—”

Harry's words were abruptly cut off with another heated kiss. He groaned softly, and mock-glared at his partner as they broke apart.

“You have to stop doing that,” Harry muttered, “it's very distracting.”

“That's sort of the point,” Remus smiled as he reached up to brush his thumb across Harry's cheekbone in a soft caress, “you need to allow yourself to rest. You're no good to your fellow Aurors if you spend your entire leave stressing about the case, only to come back to work not properly rested.”

“I know, but—” Remus silenced Harry's protests with another kiss. This one more heated than the others, and he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, drawing him close as their lips parted and their tongues tangled together in a messy, desperate kiss. Harry moaned softly, his arms reaching up to wrap around Remus's neck, the contact dissolved his brain to a mass of jelly, and the files scattered over the table were momentarily forgotten.

 

~*~

 

“Harry, wake up, we're going to be late,” Remus's voice cut through Harry's peaceful sleep, and he groaned. His back arched, naked skin sliding deliciously against the duvet, his buttocks throbbing in a satisfying well-fucked sort of way. The _last_ thing Harry wanted to do was move.

“It's _my_ birthday party. I'm allowed to be late,” Harry mumbled into his pillow, hugging it to his face as he let out a whine of protest when the blankets were suddenly thrown off him. Shivering a little, Harry peeked out from his pillow and glared at Remus, who was holding his blanket hostage and smiling down at him, as though blissfully unaware of Harry's less-than-pleasant mood.

Harry sat up slowly, though he still clutched his pillow to his chest. Remus was little more than a blurry blob, but in Harry's cranky, half-asleep state, he did not feel inclined to reach for his glasses. A pair of lips caressed his own, effectively distracting him from his irritation, and his eyes fluttered shut as he reached up to rest his hand lightly against the back of his partner's neck.

“Come, on,” Remus murmured, “up you get,” Harry groaned and flopped backward, bouncing a little on the mattress when he landed. He threw the pillow back over his face while he tried to ignore Remus's soft chuckle of amusement. Warm hands encircled his ankles and began to gently slide him off the bed, and as his bum reached the edge Remus casually scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Harry squawked with alarm at the suddenness of the the manoeuvre, wiggling and squirming in an attempt to get down, but Remus held him in place easily.

“Remus!” Harry squirmed again, but his partner merely laughed at his struggling. “We've talked about this. _Put me down._ ” Remus ignored the demand, and instead handed Harry his glasses around his shoulder, still chuckling at Harry's annoyance.

“Are you up now?” Remus asked as Harry accepted the glasses from him and pulled them on.

“Unfortunately,” Harry grumped, then yelped in surprise as Remus shifted his grip and set Harry back on his feet. Harry wobbled for a second, then glared at the werewolf, while Remus crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly. With a small huff, Harry grabbed some clothes and headed off to the loo to wash up.

 

Harry stepped downstairs fifteen minutes later with his face rearranged into something close to neutral, though he was still a little irritated by his less-than-pleasant wake-up call. Remus was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him, and he swept Harry into a warm embrace. Chuckling a little, he threw his arms over Remus's shoulders and allowed the older man to draw him into a kiss.

“Maybe it _is_ a happy birthday, after all,” Harry grinned, and held more tightly onto the older man. “You know, we don't _have_ to go out,” Harry leaned in and began to pepper kisses along the ridge of the man's unshaven jaw, “I'll contact Ron and pretend I'm sick and we could just—”

“Oh no you don't,” Remus cut across Harry's suggestion, though his protest was rather husky. “I'm not letting your downstairs brain turn you into a hermit...”

“I'm not a hermit if I'm _with_ someone, Remus,” Harry pointed out, to which Remus snorted.

“Don't be smart or I'll have to spank you.”

“Is that a promise?” Harry grinned, while Remus rolled his eyes. Still laughing, he allowed the older man to steer him to the breakfast table. Harry served himself while he casually hooked his foot around his partner's ankle, trying once again to convince Remus to stay in with him. Remus untangled his ankle from Harry's foot and shot him a glare, though it lost most of its potency by the amused smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Eat your breakfast and behave yourself,” he said with a chuckle.

  

~*~

  

The Burrow looked exactly as it had the last time Harry had been there, back when he and Ginny had still been together. Wellington boots stacked by the door, chickens scampering across the lawn, a large shed that Harry knew was overloaded with all manner of muggle objects, and the teetering, stacked building itself looked the same as it ever did. Seeing it now, Harry felt a swell of nostalgia, and he couldn't help but smile. It was such a relief to him that Molly had not changed her attitude towards him, despite the fact that things hadn't worked out between Harry and her daughter.

He and Remus had Apparated just beyond the property line, and were heading up the walkway hand-in-hand. Remus was carrying a bottle of dandelion wine under his free arm, Harry hoping the gesture would soften any negative feelings Molly and Arthur may hold against Remus.

Harry felt grounded by the older man's presence at his side, but he couldn't help the nervous twist of his stomach, his mind consumed by panicked thoughts of what Arthur and Molly might say. He knew that Ginny and Ron had filled them in on his sudden relationship with Remus, but this was the first time that they would see it with their own eyes, and the idea that they might reject it—reject _him_ was terrifying.

Seeming to sense Harry's anxieties, Remus squeezed his hand gently, but honoured Harry's wish of keeping the public displays of affection to a bare minimum, and did nothing more. Harry almost wished that he would ignore Harry's earlier request, as Harry's desire to be held by him was almost overwhelming.

Harry swallowed his fear and knocked on the door, and it flew open almost at once to display a slightly harassed-looking Molly Weasley, looking exactly as Harry remembered her. Kind-faced, an apron pulled over her robes, and her red hair pulled back from her face. Her expression shifted to a delighted smile at the sight of him.

“Harry!” She cried while she beamed at him, “it's so good to see you dear, come in, come in.”

She ushered the couple inside and pulled Harry at once into a motherly hug. He returned it, while he subtly kicked Remus in the shin with the back of his heel when he heard a faint lupine growl rent the air.

“It's been a while Mrs Weasley,” Harry smiled as he pulled back from her, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of The Burrow. It had been so long since he'd visited that it almost felt as though he was seeing it for the first time again. Like Hogwarts and Remus, the Burrow always felt like home to him.

“Please dear, how many times is it? You can call me Molly.” Harry laughed to her warm smile, feeling his face heat slightly in embarrassment. It was likely she had asked him this at least a hundred times, but it always managed to escape his mind as he fell back on the deeply ingrained polite terms for adults that the Dursleys had drilled into his head.

“Er—sorry...Molly,” he amended with a slightly embarrassed smile. It still sounded strange to him to call her that, but she smiled warmly all the same.

“Remus,” she said, turning to Harry's partner. She reached out to squeeze his upper arm affectionately, and it appeared as though she wanted to embrace him the same way she had Harry, but seemed to hesitate at the last minute.

“Are you well?” She asked, her eyes flicking momentarily from Remus to Harry, then to their linked hands. But her warm, maternal smile never wavered.

“Fine, thank you Molly,” he smiled in that familiar, placid smile that everyone knew so well, and offered the bottle of wine to her. “We brought this for dinner, Harry mentioned that you were rather fond of this particular one.”

“Oh, dandelion wine! You shouldn't have!” Harry grinned as she looked mildly overwhelmed by the gesture. Molly pressed a light kiss to Harry's cheek and he couldn't help but laugh a little, grateful that this time around Remus did not seem to react to the contact. She turned and motioned towards the back garden, “come along you two, everyone is setting up outside. The kitchen is just too small for fourteen people.”

Out of habit, Remus wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, his hand resting lightly on Harry's hip. The pair moved to follow Molly, but froze when they both caught the way that the Weasley Matriarch's smile became suddenly became rather fixed. Harry felt his heart jump into his throat and he exchanged a look of uncertainty with his partner.

Remus pulled away rather quickly, but Harry caught his hand before he could move away completely, and they laced their fingers together. The disapproval he'd seen in Molly's eyes was not wholly unexpected, but it still stung. Harry looked up at Remus apologetically, and he seemed to understand as he offered Harry a small smile of reassurance.

Outside, their arrival was not immediately noticed by everyone, given that they were too busy watching Ron and George. The pair had apparently transfigured the back garden into an enormous swamp, which they had then ignited, and were throwing various foodstuffs as hard as they could across the flaming expanse, then handed out the toasted tidbits to those assembled around its edges.

Harry could see Bill and Fleur, with little Victoire perched on her father's shoulders. She was giggling and getting sticky, melted marshmallow in Bill's long red hair, who didn't seem particularly displeased by his daughter's antics. Hermione was several feet behind Ron with Percy, talking quietly and shooting her boyfriend disapproving glares. Charlie stood with Ginny, laughing and cheering as they ate their way through toasted marshmallows, crumpets, and bread, while Nott stood next to Harry's ex, looking very nervous. Harry had to struggle to hide a smirk, the Slytherin looked very much like a cricket trapped in a chicken coop. Meanwhile, Arthur was huddled near what appeared to be a muggle barbecue, where he was clearly pretending that he hadn't noticed his children's antics or the enormous, flaming swamp that suddenly took up most of his back garden.

“RON! GEORGE! HOW MANY TIMES? _”_ Ron and George's heads whipped towards their mother, Ron's throw losing its momentum and the crumpet he'd tossed landed in the centre of the flaming swamp, where it incinerated.

“Sorry Mum,” Ron said with a grin that almost looked genuinely apologetic, except Harry could tell he was far too pleased with himself to be completely sorry about his actions.

“ _Honestly,”_ she huffed, whipping her wand out and vanished the swamp and inferno with several quick jabs and flicks of her wand, then conjured two picnic tables and arranged them end-to-end. “Is it _too_ much to ask for you two to _not_ try and burn the house down when you come home for a visit? _Really_.”

While Molly continued to berate her two youngest sons, Ginny circled around the edge of the group and tugged a reluctant Nott along her.

“Relax,” Harry said to the Slytherin as they came within hearing distance, “I have no Skiving Snackboxes on me,” Remus gave him an odd look, while Nott went several different shades of red in quick succession.

“They told you about that?” Nott did not look pleased, while Ginny was staring off in the opposite direction with her lips pressed tightly together, clearly trying to keep herself from laughing.

“Ron seemed pretty pleased with himself about it,” Harry replied, the corner of his mouth quivering a little. His eyes caught Ginny's, and they both turned away quickly to muffle their sniggers.

“Yeah, well, I didn't find it nearly as amusing as they did,” Nott was still rather red, but his gaze fell momentarily to Harry and Remus's linked hands. He looked up at Remus uncertainly, as though he wasn't sure what to say. Harry cocked a brow at him, all but daring him to comment on it, and Nott went a little red again.

“First time I came here was in a flying car. Mad stunts is practically how this family communicates,” Harry said in an effort to keep the topic away from his somewhat unconventional relationship for as long as he could. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Remus, but it was exhausting repeating himself so often. He grinned while Nott eyed him quizzically, as though he was trying to work out whether Harry was kidding or not.

“Well we were liberating you from your evil aunt and uncle's house, so it was for a good cause,” Ron said with a grin as he joined the conversation, while Nott looked a little nervous at his appearance. “All right, Harry? Remus?”

“We're well, thank you Ron,” Remus said with a soft smile, “Congratulations on the Red Moon case finally being closed, I understand it was your partner who received the tip, from what Harry tells me.”

“Er—yeah, I mean, it was all of us, really. I mean, there's still a ways to go before we can completely close it, but the raid was a good start,” Harry couldn't help but smile a little as Ron went rather red under the praise, rambling a little as he went, but Remus's placid smile never wavered.

“I can leave the house with relative assurance that I won't be murdered, so I would classify that as a success,” Remus replied rather dryly, though Harry was the only one who laughed at his comment.

“And relative assurance you won't be murdered _in_ the house either, now that you've given Kreacher his kitchen back,” Harry filled in with a grin while Remus chuckled. He reached up to wrap an arm around Harry's shoulders, and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

“I think I'll go see if Arthur needs help,” Remus said as he nodded towards where Arthur was trying in vain to ignite the barbecue with a muggle barbecue lighter, and not having much success.

“Behave,” Remus added with a soft smile as he turned his attention back to Harry, “and enjoy the time with your friends.” Harry's eyes widened a little in surprise at the words, as he hadn't expected Remus to willingly leave his side in such a large group of relative strangers to their bond.

“Er—okay,” in another moment of forgetting where they were, Remus leaned in to kiss him lightly, a gesture Harry happily returned. He released Harry, his movements a little jerky in his reluctance to let Harry go, then strode towards Arthur without looking back.

Harry watched him go, feeling strangely unsettled without Remus nearby. He turned back to the group to see Nott staring at him oddly. Ron was looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Hermione—who had joined the group when he'd had his back turned—looked concerned. Ginny was the only one who wore an expression anywhere near approving, which was a surprise. _Oh spectacular,_ Harry thought, struggling to keep his expression neutral as he looked back to the others, _Remus left me with the bloody Spanish Inquisition_.

“What?” He asked, having a feeling that he knew what was coming.

“It's—it's true then?” Nott asked him in a stage whisper, “I mean, you and Professor Lupin?”

“I've been standing here for nearly ten minutes talking to you while holding his hand, and then we kissed,” Harry replied, his brow furrowed a little with annoyance, “what do you think?”

“But isn't it a bit weird?” Nott continued, while Ginny's mouth twitched, as though she was debating whether or not to shut him up. “I mean, he's old enough to be your—”

“—Considering who he was friends with, I'd rather you _not_ finish that sentence,” Harry cut across him with a small frown, while everyone looked slightly uncomfortable at Harry's cold tone of voice.

“Look,” Harry said quickly, while he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “it started as an...accidental situation, kind of. But he's been nothing but good to me, and I really care for him. I'd rather you not bring the age gap into it, because at the end of the day it doesn't matter to me if he's twenty years older than me or a hundred,” Harry paused, frowning a little as he looked over towards Remus, silently praying that Arthur wouldn't accidentally blow up Remus with his latest muggle toy, and then turned his attention back to the group.

“I know it's a little unconventional, but he...” Harry felt an involuntary smile spread across his lips, while he locked his gaze with Ginny's. She nodded once, as though giving her permission for him to continue. “...If I was to accidentally find myself bound to anyone, I'm glad it was him.”

Harry suddenly felt his face grow warm, and he felt as though he had been placed under a spotlight, as the other four stared at him. Only Ginny and Ron wore expressions in the realm of approval, Hermione still appeared concerned, while Nott merely looked confused.

In that moment, seeing the approving smile that graced Ginny's lovely face, Harry felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He cared for her, this was true, but his relationship with her had been very different to what he now had with Remus. It wasn't possible to compare the two—despite the number of times he'd tried to—and he was relieved that she seemed to understand that they were absolutely over, and they could go back to being just friends.

“I'm happy for you Harry,” Ginny said earnestly, and the others whipped around to face her, varying looks of surprise on their faces. Clearly, she had been the last person they'd expected to approve of Harry and Remus's relationship. “You've been through hell your whole life, and if you've found happiness with Remus. If you're happy, who _cares_ how much older he is than you?” Her eyes shifted from one person to the next, the look on her face all but daring someone to contradict her.

“Anyway,” Ron added with a grin, “I'd _much_ rather an ex-professor over say...a Slytherin? _Ow!_ ” He winced as Ginny swatted him, and even Nott joined in on the laughter at Ron's expense.

  

~*~

  

Harry whiled away the afternoon by catching up with his friends, feeling as though he'd seen precious little of them of late. This wasn't completely due to Remus monopolizing his time, but more the strange growing-up thing, where their lives suddenly became too busy for them to hang out anywhere as much as they used to.

Remus seemed to be striving to give Harry his time with his friends and kept his distance, but intercepted him on his few trips back to the festivities from the loo. Harry was all too happy to sneak off with him to let the werewolf to re-stake his claim in private. He knew that this was something that the other guests would likely not understand, if they were caught. They did rather a poor job of hiding what they had been up to, his peers—Ron, in particular—giving him a knowing look as he returned, though if the older adults had noticed, none of them commented.

Arthur's attempt at grilling had resulted in chicken that more closely resembled charcoal briquettes. It seemed that Molly had anticipated this result, and had ready a backup main course for their dinner. The group happily dug into a sumptuous meal of roast potatoes, garlic chicken, salad, and a generous measure of the wine he and Remus had brought along.

Remus sat at Harry's left at the table, while Ron and Hermione sat to his right, and he tried to divide his time between his two best friends and his partner. Harry was acutely aware of the stares being shot their way, in particular from Molly and Arthur. The disapproval in their eyes—people he genuinely considered to be his family—was much harder to ignore than anything he'd experienced at the hands of Rita Skeeter's smear tactics. Remus seemed to sense Harry's shift in mood despite his efforts to hide it, and he covered Harry's hand with his own under the table, and gave it a small squeeze.

“Don't let it get to you,” Ron murmured softly to Harry, the comment causing him to whip around and stare at Ron in surprise. “Mum's just worried. She thinks you were forced into it, and after she sees how you two are together, she'll get over it. Just give her some time.”

“Easier said than done,” Harry muttered, turning his hand under Remus's so that their palms touched and their fingers could thread together. He stabbed sullenly at a potato on his plate, painfully aware of the eyes burning into him.

 

After a rich chocolate cake adorned with pieces of golden nut brittle and a marvellously off-key rendition of the Happy Birthday song, Harry was subject to another hour of being the centre of attention as he was showered with gifts—much to his embarrassment.

From Hermione, he received a book about nonhuman bonds, which caused Harry to roll his eyes but thank her all the same. From Ron and George he received a number of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products, and from the other Weasley children he received a number of small trinkets and sweets. He thanked everyone graciously after each gift that he opened, while he fought to keep his self-conscious flush at being so spoiled to a bare minimum.

His last gifts, from Ginny, Arthur and Molly were just as thoughtful. Ginny had given him a snitch that the entire Holyhead Harpies team had signed (including Ginny herself) in minute writing. From Arthur and Molly he'd been given another Weasley jumper for his collection, as well as a tin of homemade toffees. Even Nott had gotten him something, looking highly embarrassed as he passed Harry an envelope containing a voucher to Quality Quidditch Supplies, for which he thanked him with a small chuckle, and Nott seemed relieved that Harry hadn't taken the mickey out of him over it.

Though Harry had been adamant that Remus not get him anything, he could not help but feel a little disappointed when he offered up no small parcel to him. After many a disappointing birthday he could hide this rather well, but the look in Molly's eyes told him that she had not missed it either.

Harry stood and stretched. The sweet smells of Summer that surrounded him made him feel relaxed and content. Before he could be stopped by one or both of the Weasley elders, he reached down and lightly tugged on Remus's hand. He looked up at Harry, the question written all over his face, while Harry grinned.

“Come for a walk with me?” he asked, “I don't feel like leaving just yet,” Remus caught the unspoken request, and he smiled and stood while he nodded to Harry's request. Before anyone could intercept them, the pair quickly slipped off into the labyrinth of the orchard.

 

Harry ignored the pointed looks that followed them into the trees, their fingers linked together and Harry leant comfortably against Remus's side as they walked, slowly disappearing from view of the others. Apple blossoms adorned the trees around them, bathing the orchard's paths with their sweet fragrance, and the paths themselves were adorned with fallen blossom petals. It was rather picturesque, and Harry couldn't stop smiling.

As soon as they were out of sight of the others, Remus released Harry's hand and threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. Harry couldn't help but laugh, stumbling to a stop and throwing his own arm around Remus's midsection. He pressed his cheek against the older man's shoulder, getting as close as he could to Remus without it hindering his gait too badly.

“It felt weird,” Harry said after a few moments of silence, “not having you as close by today, I mean.” His arm tightened around Remus, just as the older man mirrored the gesture at the same moment, giving Harry's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“I believe certain Weasleys would be more than a little uncomfortable if we behaved as we do at home around them,” Remus commented, and Harry snorted. He bowed his head forward a little as they relaxed their embrace and continued their walk.

“I didn't mean performing fellatio among the cabbages, you know,” Harry said as Remus barked a laugh. “I just mean...I got so used to being attached at the hip with you, so to speak, so it was strange to not have you as close by.”

“Well,” Remus's tone of voice had taken on a throaty quality, and Harry grinned. “There are no Weasleys around now, perhaps we should make the most of this time alone.”

He turned a little as he spoke and Harry followed his movements, allowing Remus to pin him to the trunk of a nearby tree. Harry lifted his arms and linked his hands together at the back of Remus's neck, his mouth stretched in a wide grin.

Remus covered Harry's mouth with his own, their lips parting at once and the kiss dissolved into a mess of teeth and tongue. Harry groaned softly as he arched his back and pressed himself bodily into his partner. Remus's hands moved to Harry's hips and held fast to him, and upon feeling a certain hardness pressing insistently against his lower stomach, Harry felt a thrill of excitement go through him.

“We're going to utterly traumatize whoever comes looking for us, you realize,” Harry breathed the comment, tilting his head back as Remus's tongue dragged along his jaw and the side of his throat.

“Let them come,” Remus murmured, his cool breath tickling over Harry's slightly dampened skin, “they might learn something.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes fluttering shut as one of Remus's warm hands snuck under the front of his T-shirt, though they flew open at almost the same time as several things happened at the same time.

 

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

 

A sudden, unfamiliar voice cried the spell, and Harry felt Remus slump forward, then fell into a heap at his feet. Harry cried out in surprise, but before he could move two people grabbed his arms and pinned them at his back. Harry looked up from his unconscious partner and hissed in recognition at the man that stood before him.

“Taggert,” Harry growled, narrowing his eyes and jerking his arms, but the man's two cronies held him fast. Two more Red Moon grunts stood to either side of him, their wands trained on Harry.

“Mr Potter,” he purred as he strode forward, reached into Harry's pocket, and withdrew his wand. “I'll just be holding onto this for you, I think.” He laughed as Harry struggled against the men that held him, and gasped sharply as his arm was twisted sharply against his back, stilling his movements.

“You can't—someone will hear...they come looking for us when we don't return,” Harry hissed the words, wincing at the angle in which his arms were being held—he felt as though one wrong move might cause his shoulders to dislocate.

“That is doubtful,” Taggert said with a smirk, ignoring Harry's growl of anger as he watched the man cast a nonverbal silencing charm around them with Harry's wand.

“You see Mr Potter,” Taggert continued as he paced back and forth in front of Harry, twirling the holly and phoenix feather wand in his hand, “you seem to be under the foolish impression that you can utterly dismantle my life's work, protect monsters instead of wizards, turn your back on your own kind...and get away with it.”

He turned to face Harry, his lip curled in his rage, and in a whirl of red robes, the man's own wand had been drawn, and he pressed it sharply into the side of Harry's throat, digging the tip painfully into his windpipe. Harry stiffened, his fear freezing any protests before they made it out of his mouth.

“You will pay dearly for what you have done,” Taggert snarled, the conviction in the man's words made Harry tense, though he tried to not let his fear show on his face. “You will _pay_ for this, Harry Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth, uncertain if he wanted to beg or argue, but he had no chance to do either as a whispered incantation shot a jet of silver-white light from Taggert's wand, and Harry's world dissolved into darkness.

  

~*~

  

“ _Give me the damn potion.”_

“ _But Sir, I thought the point was to make Potter suffer?”_

“ _And he will. But it won't be any fun if he happens to faint partway through. Now give me the fucking potion. I want him to stay conscious for this.”_

 

The coarse, agitated voices bled into Harry's mind as he woke, though his curiosity at who might be speaking was hindered somewhat by the agonizing throb of his head. The pain was so intense that Harry felt as though his skull may split if he opened his eyes. He groaned softly, just as a large hand grabbed his jaw with bruising force and forced his mouth open. A bitter, viscous fluid spread across his tongue, making him cough and sputter.

Slowly, the pain began to recede, and Harry's vision cleared. Without the pain to focus on, Harry realized that he was tightly bound to a chair in a dark room that he didn't recognize. Sitting directly across from him was Remus, bound in the same manner as he was, though looking significantly more battered, with the entire left side of his face an alarming shade of black and blue, and swollen in such a way that suggested that his jaw was likely broken. The sight of his partner so injured made Harry feel sick at his own helplessness.

“ _Remus..._ ” the broken whisper escaped him before Harry could completely think it through, and almost at once an elbow slammed into his cheek. Harry's head snapped sharply to the side, and he gasped in pain as the skin split. A warm trickle of blood streaked his cheek as he turned his head back around, his eyes narrowed in fury at his attacker. In the background, he could hear the faint sound of Remus's familiar, protective snarl. The sound was not missed by the Red Moon grunts, as another struck Remus in a similar fashion, though he did not seem to feel the pain, his eyes firmly fixed upon Harry's assailant.

The Red Moon grunts were almost entirely hidden in shadow, and Harry was unable to identify them. He knew Taggert was here however, and that did not bode well for Harry or Remus. If they managed to get out of this alive it would be nothing short of a miracle.

“The traitor wakes,” the smooth voice of Taggert echoed through the small room, and Harry froze in his bindings.

Soft footfalls approached him, and slowly Brom Taggert stepped out of the shadows. He stood up straight, his arms folded behind his back, with an expression of disgust contorting his features. He regarded Harry in silence for several long minutes before he spoke.

“I will never understand,” he began, his voice soft, but still unnervingly calm, “what would push a person such as yourself, a person of such goodness, the veritable beacon of light and hope in the wizarding world for so many, to throw away your loyalty to your own race and consort...with a beast.” Taggert spoke in a voice so soft it was near a whisper, but the words burned into Harry's mind as though the man was yelling. Harry gritted his teeth, his rage bubbling up in his chest, but for the moment, he kept silent.

Taggert stepped closer, and crouched down so that he was at eye-level with Harry. Harry felt a fresh wave of panic rush through him, but he refused to let any of it show on his face.

“I wonder...” Taggert continued, his voice lowering even further in volume, so much so that Harry had to strain his ears to hear him, “it's said that you were abused as a child at the hands of your muggle relatives. Perhaps such treatment led you to believe that you could not trust your own kind, thus causing you to ally yourself with dangerous beasts?”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed, his hands trembling in their bindings as his control on his emotions snapped.

“Just _shut up_. Whether or not I was abused by my blood relatives has _nothing_ to do with who I choose to be with. Remus is a good man—” Harry hissed in pain as he was struck across the face again, the flesh tearing further under the brass knuckles Taggert struck him with.

“He isn't a _man_ at all! The fact that you cannot even _see_ how far you have strayed from what is right and good is what concerns me. It _deeply_ concerns me, Harry,” The care in which Taggert spoke was met with a glare. Taggert ignored the look as he stood, Harry's blood dripping off the implement threaded over the his knuckles. Harry could hear the low, threatening growls of Remus from behind him, no longer impeded by the Red Moon grunts attempting to silence him, but Taggert paid it no mind.

“I was uncertain what would be a fitting punishment for one such as you,” Taggert said, still speaking to Harry in that same soft tone of voice, while Harry struggled to reign in his emotions. He needed to stay calm and clear-headed if they were to have any chance of getting out of this, but his panic was running wild, making the task next to impossible.

“Should we kill the werewolf first?” Taggert asked, his eyes flicked to were Remus was bound as he spoke, and Harry felt his panic mount further, “or his bitch?”

Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a block of ice at these words, and his gaze whipped up to meet his captor's, his eyes wide and fearful. The growls raised in volume, and Harry winced as he heard the sound of skin coming into contact with skin, and Remus went suddenly silent. Harry knew that crying out or attempting to bargain for Remus's life would be playing right into their hands, but keeping his mouth shut was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

Taggert seemed to come to some sort of decision as he reached for his belt and withdrew a pair of ordinary muggle pliers. Having a feeling that he knew where this was headed, Harry instantly curled his hands into fists.

“I believe Mr Potter must be taught a lesson for his disloyalty to his own kind, don[t you think?” He asked, turning his attention to his cronies, who laugh darkly at Harry's expense. “Hold him.”

At Taggert's words, hands descended on Harry and forced his knuckles to unravel. They pinned his hands flat against the arms of the chair and Harry's eyes bulged with fright as he tried to brace himself for pain as the cold metal pinched the nail of his left index finger and pulled.

Harry's screams reverberated off the walls and drowned out every other sound in the tiny, windowless room. One after the other, his fingernails were pinched and ripped from their bed. Taggert pulled them slowly, agonizingly, and Harry was barely aware of the hot tears that streaked his cheeks as Taggert worked. Harry's agonized cries became progressively more hoarse, and he tasted the sharp tang of blood on his tongue as his throat was shredded by his screams.

After the tenth one, Harry was released and his head slumped forward, tears and sweat mingling together on his face in a thin sheen, his fingers a bloody mess. Every small brush of fabric or gust of wind against the nail beds burned, and Harry breathed shallowly in an effort to get a handle on the pain.

His head felt as though it weighed several tons, but he lifted it just enough to keep his eyes on his partner. Remus's eyes were bulged in anger, his teeth gritted, and his muscles rigid, and he sat so stiffly that it was as though he had been Petrified.

A hand carded through Harry's hair and he flinched, the small reaction eliciting an amused laugh from Taggert. He wound his fingers through Harry's thick locks and yanked his head up, forcing Harry to meet the foul man's eyes.

“I think for such a prodigious kill, I should have some kind of souvenir, don't you think, Mr Potter?” He asked, and Harry swallowed thickly as Taggert produced a small dagger with a blade made not of metal, but obsidian. Harry was quite certain that he would be sick at the sight of the small implement—there was only _one_ thing that obsidian blades were ever used for. Scalping.

One of the men grabbed Harry by the jaw and tilted his head back, while the other pushed his hair away from his forehead. A low, frightened whine escaped him before he was able to stop it, and tears stung his eyes.

“ _No,_ ” he whimpered, his breath escaping him in short trembling gasps, _“don't, don't do this—please..._ ” his pitiful pleading dissolved into terrified sobs as the blade bit into the flesh of his hairline.

The pain became so blinding that Harry found himself falling silent as he stared blankly at the dark ceiling above him. Tears continued to streak his cheeks while blood dribbled down and into his eyes, partially blinding him as the knife sliced through his flesh with surgical precision. The knife followed Harry's hairline, dropping down to encase his famous scar, then the incision met its starting point in a complete circle that enclosed his head of hair.

A pained wail escaped from Harry as fingers dug under the flesh of his scalp, and with slow, precise movements and the aid of Taggert's specialized knife, Harry felt his scalp—hair, scar, and all—peel away from his head.

The pain was too much, and as Harry was released his head bowed forward and he vomited directly into his lap. It was overwhelming, and he felt as though his body was shutting down, no longer able to cope with the pain.

Harry felt the Cruciatus Curse hit him, but he couldn't tell who had cast it. Tears and blood dripped from his chin as hoarse, gurgling cries escaped him, while the familiar sensation of glass in his veins assaulted him over and over.

Everything began to bleed together, and Harry had begun to pray that they might kill him soon. It was too much; he no longer cared whether he lived or died—he just wanted it _over._

Harry had no idea how much time had passed; it could have been minutes, hours—even days. He was no longer able to tell, and he struggled to lift his head, longing to see Remus. He was dying, he could feel it, and he refused to let himself go from this life without laying his eyes on the man he had shared so much with—the man he _loved_ —one last time.

His gaze lifted, and Harry was startled to see that Remus was physically shaking in his bindings. Remus's eyes were wide, deeply bloodshot, and rolling wildly in their sockets. His hands were opening and closing into dual fists repeatedly, and his head was tilted as far back as his neck would allow while he hyperventilated.

The Red Moon grunts had been focused on Harry, and did not seem to notice the fit Remus seemed to be having. A wail escaped the werewolf that was definitely _not_ human, but not entirely lupine, either. Somewhere in the back of Harry's weakened and muddled mind, he knew full well that it was nowhere near the full moon, but despite this fact, he watched as the cloth of Remus's shirt split, dark grey and tawny fur beginning to sprout across his exposed skin.

The Red Moon members realized too late what was happening. Remus's bindings snapped apart and the chair that held him splintered as the change reached completion. The enormous werewolf snarled furiously, its blind anger evident in every movement and vocalization. Moony did not wait, and lunged directly at Taggert.

The high, terrified shrieks of the Red Moon head filled the tiny room, while the other members screamed and tried shooting curses at the werewolf. They bounced off his deeply magical body, not even managing to singe the fur. None of them appeared brave enough to get any closer to the enormous creature, and Taggert had abruptly stopped screaming.

Moony looked up from the partially eviscerated body he had been tearing into, and with another enraged growl he attacked again and again, taking down each Red Moon member without mercy. He tore open their bellies, ripped into their internal organs, and snapped bones like kindling. Their pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, Moony too far gone for anything to register beyond the need for vengeance upon those who dared harm his mate.

Moony cornered the last Red Moon grunt, his lip curled and snarling, the normally tawny and grey fur of his muzzle darkened with blood, and deep red saliva dripped from his quivering jowls. Moony leapt forward and closed his jaws over the screaming man's neck, and with a snap like a gunshot the room fell silent.

Harry watched the enormous creature with gradually blurrier vision as it approached, dragging the corpse with him, and dropped it at Harry's feet. Slowly, Moony's amber gaze softened from enraged to mournful. He whined, gently nudging his enormous furry head against Harry's shoulder. 

“Moony,” Harry whispered hoarsely, trying to lift his head and smile at the werewolf reassuringly, but he hadn't the strength for even such a small gesture.

Harry heard the soft crunching of bone, and a naked Remus Lupin was suddenly kneeling before him, his face streaked with blood, sweat, and tears.

“Harry,” he breathed, his voice hoarse as though he'd been yelling, “oh God, _Harry,”_ his voice broke as a terrified sob escaped him.

“ _Help me_ ,” Harry said, his words barely a whisper, his form trembling as he struggled to stay conscious. The ropes fell away from his chest, wrists, and ankles, and he tumbled forward off the chair, incapable of holding his own weight. Strong arms caught him, Harry whimpered and shivered, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on Remus.

“I have you Harry,” he whispered, holding onto him with a gentle, but firm embrace. “Just hold on, you're going to be fine. Hold on, Harry—”

Harry wanted to reassure Remus, he wanted to stay awake and let his partner believe that he was better than he felt. It had all been too much however, and the last thing he saw was Remus's anguished face before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	25. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a crazy busy weekend which involved a spontaneous road trip, so I didn't have as much time as usual to edit this chapter. Any major errors feel free to point them out to me. One more chapter after this, and it'll be the end...of book one. Definitely not the end of Remus and Harry's adventures :D

Chapter 25 – Healing

 

_BREAKING: THE FALL OF RED MOON_

 

_The body of the notorious Red Moon leader, Brom Taggert was found yesterday (31 July), along with four Red Moon underlings. All five individuals were confirmed deceased on site, victims of a vicious werewolf attack. This was following their abduction and violent assault of Trainee Auror Harry Potter and [Name Redacted]._

_The terrorist group known as Red Moon was founded at the end of the Second Wizarding War. During He Who Must Not Be Named's reign of terror, the werewolf population skyrocketed, and fuelled by prejudice and fear, Red Moon sought to quell the spreading Lycanthropic 'disease'. Taggert was once quoted as referring to the spread of Lycanthropy was not unlike the muggle disease known as HIV (Human Immunodeficiency Virus. A disease of the blood with no known cure. Highly contagious, though as far as St Mungo's Healers are aware, wizards are immune to it.)._

_In the last year, Red Moon has been the focus of a special task force of Aurors, assigned to the case following a string of mysterious werewolf murders._

“ _They were attempting to commit magical genocide,” says Senior Auror Mahamari Sahir, one of the Aurors assigned to the case early on. “It was a special curse involving the ritual murder of twenty-five people. [Details redacted]. One of our Trainee Aurors had put together the idea that it might not be random killings, but a spell of some kind. From there, we were able to put together a criminal profile, and we were able to more accurately determine where they might strike next.”_

_Earlier this month following an anonymous tip, fifteen Aurors organized a raid on the Red Moon headquarters. Many high-level members had been captured, but the bloodthirsty head, Brom Taggert escaped. He met his demise less than a week later, ironically, at the hands of a werewolf._

_The identity of the werewolf has been withheld, but it is known that Trainee Auror Harry Potter and another had been brutally tortured at the hands of Taggert preceding his untimely death. Most mysteriously, despite the time of the month being a waxing moon, the remains of Taggert and his men show signs of a fully transformed werewolf attack._

“ _Werewolves turn on the full moon, everyone knows that,” says Rohm Keegan, of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. “However, there have been rare cases of werewolves turning outside the full moon. Many of the secrets surrounding werewolf magic are closely guarded by the larger packs, and it is not information that they have ever shared with the wizarding population. Even human mates of werewolves know very little of its properties, and precious few werewolves are willing to come forward and further our study of it. At this point, we can only speculate about what may have sparked this transformation at the wrong phase of the moon. Some Academics believe that the ability to turn at will outside the full moon is something that only Alpha wolves are capable of, while others believe that a change of this nature occurs when the werewolf in question is has need of it—primarily as a means to protect.”_

_With so little known about Creature Magic, it is very difficult to ascertain what sparked this transformation. Was the werewolf in question an Alpha wolf, or was their transformation sparked by their desire to protect Harry Potter? Clearly there is more to these transformations than the typical Full Moon transformations, given that the werewolf in question caused no harm to the Trainee Auror in their wolf form._

_According to inside sources, the werewolf will face no criminal charges, and has been awarded an Order of Merlin, Third Class, for his protection of the young Auror._

_Harry Potter and [Name Redacted] are currently recuperating at St Mungo's Hospital, and are expected to make a full recovery._

 

_Lilah Silver_

_Special Correspondent_

 

Harry finished reading the two-week-old article and handed the paper back to Remus.

“I'm surprised Kingsley managed to keep your name out of it,” Harry whispered, his voice still incredibly hoarse, and his knobbly, bandaged fingers made holding the newspaper incredibly difficult..

“Special favour for bringing down Taggert and saving your life,” Remus replied as he took back the paper. He wedged it onto Harry's nightstand, which was overloaded with tokens of his friends and admirers; from bouquets of flowers to enormous boxes of chocolates and other sweets. Remus's tone was muddled between his usual calm and a bitter anger. Harry couldn't blame him; even if Taggert deserved what he got, killing was never easy.

Harry eased his heavily bandaged head back onto the pillows, and reached out for Remus's hand, which he surrendered to Harry at once. Since waking up a handful of days earlier, Harry was extremely reluctant to let Remus out of sight, the phantom fear that Red Moon wasn't really finished refusing to leave his mind. Despite the vague reference in the paper, Remus's injuries had been incredibly minor compared to Harry's. His broken jaw and various contusions had been mended in about a minute, whereas Harry was lucky to be alive.

Harry brushed his fingertips over the back of Remus's hand, and hated that he couldn't feel his partner's skin through the potion-soaked gauze. The healers had promised him that he would be well enough to go home soon, but _soon_ seemed like a painfully long time when he was confined to a bed. His fingertips and scalp were in a considerable amount of pain, but the few glances he'd caught of himself in the mirror did tell him that he was healing, though much more slowly than he would have liked.

The skin on his scalp had more or less regenerated, thanks in large part to the horrific potions he needed to ingest, as well as a thick, strong-smelling salve that was massaged into the thin, papery skin twice a day. It was rather odd to see himself bald, but the healers promised that his hair would be back to its usual untidy mess before long.

“Good afternoon Mr Potter, Mr Lupin,” the cheery Healer, Healer Stephens stepped into the private room, a tray of food in her hands. Both Harry and Remus offered up light greetings, and Harry struggled to ignore the disapproving look that crossed her features when her eyes fell upon their intertwined hands. Under normal circumstances he would have said something, but he was simply too exhausted to bother.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as she set down the tray on his side table, and Harry wrinkled his nose. A great many things were different between the wizarding and muggle worlds, but both seemed equally incapable of producing edible hospital food. Today's menu was something that may at one time have been edible, but if the smell coming off it was any indication, it would not be a pleasant dining experience.

“About the same as this morning,” Harry replied as she changed his bandages with several flicks of her wand. Harry grimaced as the old bandages were peeled from his scalp and the new ones were applied. It was no longer painful, but the thin skin was still highly sensitive.

“Your scalp is looking better,” she replied as she fastened the purple-tinted bandages shut. “Let us know at once if it begins to itch, that will be a sign that the follicles have repaired and your hair is starting to regrow.”

“I will,” Harry offered her a weak smile, feeling his heart skip a beat as the woman strode out of the room while determinedly not looking at Remus, her eyes telling him of her disapproval of him. Harry frowned, but his partner did not seem overly ruffled by the brushoff.

“Come on Harry,” Remus's voice cut through Harry's discontented thoughts, and he turned his head to see the older man cutting into his meat for him. “You need to eat,” Harry opened his mouth to accept the morsel he offered, still feeling slightly awkward about Remus helping him eat. With his fingers still thickly bandaged, he couldn't manage cutlery on his own and as such had little choice in the matter, but it still felt strange to be fed like a child.

“I can't wait to get out of here and eat something that doesn't taste like Hagrid's cooking,” Harry muttered thickly around a mouthful of Salisbury steak, while Remus chuckled softly.

“All in good time. Though I can't say that taking care of you falls into the realm of a bad thing,” Harry felt his face grow warm at Remus's words, and the older man seemed quite pleased by his reaction.

Being at Harry's side ever since he'd woken up, helping him eat, keeping him occupied by reading to him or just talking, it was like he'd become a completely different person. Now that Red Moon had been completely shut down, Remus had allowed his instincts pertaining to the bond between them run wild, and he seemed quietly ecstatic at the idea of tending to Harry so completely, despite how awkward Harry felt about it.

“That's the most wholesome kink I've ever heard of,” Harry replied with a soft laugh, while Remus pressed his lips into a thin line, though he couldn't tell if the older man was annoyed or amused by his comment.

“I'm saving the ones we can never ever tell Molly Weasley about for after you've recovered,” he said with a small smirk of amusement. Harry grinned at the thoughtand opened his mouth to respond in kind, but a sudden clearing of someone's throat distracted him, and he looked up to see Ron and Hermione standing at the door. Hermione looked mildly concerned, while Ron looked like he was fighting the urge to laugh.

“We interrupting something?” Ron asked sweetly while he stepped further into the room.

“Not at all, come in,” Harry said as he watched them step inside, then turned back to Remus to accept another bite of the horrific meal he had to eat. He could hear the soft tut of disapproval from Hermione, but he'd gotten better at ignoring her judgmental reactions. His throat had begun to burn from all the talking he'd been doing, and he motioned to a bottle on his night stand, which held a thin electric blue liquid. “Remus, could you...?”

“Of course,” he said as he reached for the bottle and a tiny glass—not unlike a shot glass in shape, and filled it with a measured dose. Harry tilted his head back slightly and parted his lips, allowing his partner to pour the potion down his throat. The effect was instantaneous, the sensation of a cool coating covering the sores of his shredded throat, and easing the pain enough for him to talk in low tones without as much discomfort. Harry smiled gratefully at him, and reached out for one of Remus's hands, feeling reassured by his presence, as well as his touch.

The physical contact seemed to upset Hermione, but thankfully she didn't say anything. On a normal day Harry would have no issues shutting down her unfounded accusations and worries, at present it was far too exhausting for him to bother.

“How are you feeling?” Ron asked while the pair sat down next to Remus. Ron maintained an unruffled, relaxed attitude, while Hermione continued to look troubled.

“I'm getting there,” Harry replied with a small smile, his voice still just barely above a whisper, though thanks to the potion it was no longer painful to speak. “They keep telling me I can go home soon, but they can't seem to tell me when _soon_ actually is.”

“They probably just want to make sure there won't be any lasting damage before they discharge you,” Hermione said reasonably, though there was a strange lilt in her voice that made Harry more than a little uneasy.

“I know, I'm just...I dunno, restless.” Harry exchanged a look with his partner, and Ron's snort of laughter was badly hidden by a hacking cough.

“I'll bet,” Ron said after he'd recovered, his mouth quirked into a lecherous, amused grin. Hermione looked properly scandalized by the comment, and Remus merely chuckled, neither confirming nor denying the ginger's obvious hint.

Remus stood suddenly, gently extricating his hand from in between Harry's. His eyes went wide, mildly panicked by losing contact with his partner, but he cradled Harry's chin gently in his hand and brushed a gentle kiss across Harry's lips. “It's all right Harry, I'll be right back. Visit with your friends, I'll be just outside for a moment.”

“All right,” Remus smiled to Harry's consent. He gently released his hold on Harry's chin, turned, and strode smoothly from the room.

Harry watched him go, feeling mildly nervous at not having his partner in sight. It still had not completely registered with him that Red Moon was gone, and the idea of those people attacking Remus where Harry could not protect him was a terrifying thought.

“Oh Harry, I don't like this,” Hermione's hushed, anguished tone of voice drew Harry out of his anxious thoughts. He turned to her while Ron hissed at her furiously under his breath.

“Don't like what, Hermione?”

“What this bond has done to you!” She looked almost tearful as she spoke, and it did not escape Harry's notice how Ron had inched away from her, as though silently telling him that he did not share his girlfriend's opinion on the matter. “You're _completely_ dependant on Remus, you went back to him after what he did to you last winter, and now you get freaked out if you're apart for more than thirty seconds!” She paused to take a deep breath to steady herself, then barrelled forwards, “It's not healthy Harry, you can't do this anymore.”

“Weren't you the one who told me at the start of all this that this was an unbreakable bond?” Even with his voice still so badly damaged, the low, dangerous tone was clear as day. Harry continued before she had a chance to interrupt, “I am dependant on Remus, especially right now, because there is a limit to what I can physically _do_ on my own.”

“I can't hold a fucking knife and fork, Hermione. He's helping me, he's not trying to control me, or hurt me, or whatever other ridiculous theory you have stomping through your brain. If it makes you feel better, I could always ask him to _stop_ helping me. I mean, starving to death is fine as long as I have my dignity, right?” Harry said as he held up his heavily bandaged hands as evidence.

“But Harry—” her feeble rebuttal was cut off almost at once. He was tired, his fingers hurt, and Remus being out of his line of sight had pushed his stress levels to the absolute limit. More than anything else, he was fed up with people judging his relationship with Remus.

“Shut up. I owe Remus my life. I—I love him,” Harry felt a flush rise in his cheeks as his tongue seemed to stumble over the word, and he quickly pressed on. “If it hadn't been for Remus, I wouldn't be sitting here now, I'd be three floors down—in the Morgue. He saved me, he brought down a dangerous fanatically racist group with nothing but his teeth. He's a hero, and even without this bond, you could never convince me to leave him. Now, I want you to drop it. This conversation is closed, and I'm not going to repeat myself every two months when you see something between us that you don't approve of. Am I making myself _perfectly_ clear?” Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but under his hard gaze any protest she may have had seemed to die in her throat. She closed her mouth, bowed her head slightly, and nodded.

Remus made more noise than was probably necessary returning to the room a moment later, which caused Harry to suspect he may have heard all or part of his little speech. His reappearance warmed Harry's heart, and he clutched a little more tightly to the hand that slipped between both of his. Hermione stared at their clasped hands for a long moment, but she didn't comment, for which Harry was deeply grateful.

 

~*~

 

The first time Harry had seen himself without his bandages, he had been on the cusp of commenting on the fact that it would be weird to see himself without his scar. However, when the last of the bandages had been pulled away, he looked into the hand mirror he held and gasped.

His scar was still there.

“We can't explain it,” the Healer explained apologetically while Harry prodded at the thin white scar that encircled his scar and scalp, almost afraid to touch the old mark Voldemort had left on him. “As soon as the skin started to grow back, the scar reappeared. We consulted with an expert on curses, and they explained that curse scars aren't simply a physical abrasion—they go deeper than that. It was a rather complex explanation, and I can refer you to them if you'd like more information.”

“No, it's okay,” Harry said with a soft sigh as he set down the mirror. He'd been looking forward to people not gawking at his forehead everywhere he went, but apparently that was not to be. “Thank you.”

“If you start feeling any pain please let the Healer on duty know,” she said kindly, offering his shoulder a gentle, apologetic squeeze before she left the couple alone. Remus seemed to sense Harry's disappointment, and he leaned in to kiss him gently.

“You've gotten along fine for twenty-one years with your scar,” Remus said softly, squeezing Harry's hands gently, “and curse scars are tricky things. They're not easily removed.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Harry muttered, slipping one of his hands from Remus's to prod at it, wincing a little. The skin was still very tender. “I just sort of liked the idea of not being so easily recognized where ever I go.”

 

~*~

 

During Harry's time in hospital, he'd been privy to a flood of visitors. Molly and Arthur visited almost as often as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny did, though despite their efforts to be supportive of him, it was clear that they still did not wholly understand the relationship he and Remus shared. Harry was uncertain if this was simply their desire to not _want_ to understand it, or genuine confusion about the nature of their bond. However, after seeing them together, Harry tucked up in the hospital bed, and Remus attentively tending to him, he saw that their opinions had slowly begun to shift.

“Harry dear,” Molly said in an undertone when Remus had stepped out for a moment, “Ronald tried to explain to me about your...relationship, but I can't imagine what a man his age would want with someone so young! You can't possibly think that this is healthy, do you?”

Harry frowned, and looked upon the kind face of Molly Weasley, who genuinely had her heart in the right place, despite her misdirected worries. He felt very much like a broken record, and not for the first time, he resigned himself to parroting details of the bond that were common knowledge, refusing to speak of anything private that Remus would not want him to share.

The words did not seem to placate Molly very much, but the sympathy he saw on Arthur's face told him that he might have a private talk with his wife at a later point. He, at least, seemed to understand that it was an accidental bonding.

 

It was another ten days before Harry was finally allowed to leave hospital. His fingernails had regrown pink and tender, and a light dusting of short, prickly hair covered the top of his head. His reflection these days often reminded him of tough action heroes from many of Dudley's American military films. Harry was given a number of lotions and salves for his head and hands to encourage hair growth and help strengthen his nails.

“...And if you start feeling any irritation,” Healer Stephens said for what felt like the hundredth time, her entire demeanour shifting from Professional Healer to Mother Hen in a matter of seconds, “I would like you to come back straightaway.”

“I will, I promise,” Harry said with a small smile, “thank you for everything, I really appreciate it.” She beamed at him.

“It was a pleasure, Mr Potter.”

  

~*~

  

It had been an exhausting couple of weeks, and Harry all but cheered when they passed the threshold of Grimmauld Place. He linked his arms around Remus's neck and pulled him in for a tender kiss.

“God, it's good to be home,” Harry murmured against Remus's mouth, and he felt the low thrum of the older man's soft chuckle.

“Come on,” Remus said while he curled an arm around his waist, “let's get you settled in.”

Harry bit back a soft groan; that hadn't been quite the _welcome home_ he'd been hoping for. He'd been stuck in bed for nearly a month and he had some energy to burn, but it was clear that Remus was still in Mother Hen mode as he gently shunted Harry towards the sitting room, and all but forced him down onto the sofa.

“I feel like I might be repeating myself,” Harry began, reaching out to catch Remus's hand as he moved to walk away, “but if you start mothering me again, I'll hex you.” Harry tugged gently on his hand, encouraging Remus to sit with him, “I feel fine, so you can stop worrying.”

“You don't exactly _sound_ fine,” he remarked, giving in to Harry's silent request and sat at his side, chuckling when Harry glared. His voice was still rather hoarse, but he could actually speak at a regular volume, which was a massive improvement.

“I feel fine,” Harry repeated, coughing once in an effort to clear his throat, but it did little more than irritate the still-healing abrasions.

“Hmm,” Remus arched a brow, and Harry glowered at him again. In an effort to prove a point, he crawled into the older man's lap, his knees resting on either side of Remus's hips, and leaned in to kiss him.

Harry felt Remus freeze under him, then slowly he relaxed, easing into the kiss while he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him flush against him. He groaned, arching his hips to grind himself into the werewolf, and Remus abruptly broke the kiss.

“Oh no you don't Mr Potter,” he murmured, his voice husky, “you were told that you are not to over-exert yourself, and nothing you are about to suggest will lead to actual rest.” Harry let out a low whine of frustration, and rested his head on Remus's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled, not exactly feeling that sorry, “I'm just a little...restless.” Remus's rough, careworn hand brushed Harry's cheek, smiling up at the younger man in a way that made Harry feel delightfully warm. He eased Harry in for another kiss, though it was softer and much more delicate than the one they'd shared mere moments before.

“All in good time,” Remus whispered, his breath tickling Harry's dampened lips, “you'll be back to your old self before you know it.”

  

~*~

  

Despite Harry's insistence that he felt fine, Remus seemed terrified that he might somehow break him, and he was so infuriatingly cautious that Harry was quickly losing his patience with the older man.

Within a week, the salves he'd been sent home with had done their work, and his hair looked like it always had. His scalp was still sensitive, but nowhere near as bad as it had been before. Harry was especially grateful that the regrowth of hair hid the thin silvery scar left behind by Taggert. When he looked in the mirror now, it was almost as though none of it had ever happened. Save for Harry's memories, there was almost no physical evidence of his latest near-death experience. Looking so much better, Harry was determined to show Remus that he was fine. Beyond reassuring his partner that he was better, he deeply missed the more carnal aspects of their relationship.

With the full moon just under a week away, Harry knew that it was the perfect time to enact his brilliant plan. Harry kept things as normal as he could during the Saturday he'd decided to put his plan into action, though with a few key differences: Harry conveniently chose a pair of jeans to wear that day that clung to him like a second skin, and took every opportunity to casually touch the back of Remus's hand, or lightly brush past him, just enough to pique the older man's interest, but never enough contact to satisfy him.

By dinner, Remus looked particularly agitated, though when Harry asked what was wrong, he grunted in a noncommittal sort of way, and did not properly answer him. Harry hid his smile behind his wineglass.

After dinner and their ritual tea, Harry once more tried to entice the man into fucking him. There was no other word that could exactly encompass what Harry wanted. Any other phrasing seemed somehow too soft or delicate for the rough, passionate sex he'd been fantasizing about ever since he'd gotten home. He took a slow breath to steady himself, and put his plan into action.

He climbed into Remus's lap, and did not miss the already noticeable bulge in his trousers. Harry braced himself with his knees on either side of the older man's hips just as he had done the first evening he'd returned home, and kissed Remus roughly.

The day of teasing had done its work; Remus reacted on instinct and held onto him tightly, while a low growl escaped him as he reached down to cup Harry's buttocks in his large hands. Harry squirmed with delight, a small moan escaping him as their kiss became more feverish, their lips parting and tongues tangling together. Remus lifted Harry up and Harry hooked his legs around the werewolf's waist, for once uncaring that Remus had done so, his mind solely focused on his overwhelming arousal.

Remus carried Harry upstairs, showing no more strain than if he had been carrying a ragdoll. Harry grinned as Remus dropped him unceremoniously onto their bed, and the older man climbed up at once, pausing only long enough to stare down at his young partner with concern.

“Are you sure you're up for this Harry?” He asked softly, one hand pressing lightly against Harry's abdomen. Harry almost wanted to laugh at the question, and instead of answering, he grabbed Remus's hand and directed it to his groin.

“I'm up for it, all right,” Harry whispered, his cheeks flushing a little at his word choice, but rushed forward when he saw the look of concern that was still on his partner's face. “Remus, I'm _fine_ , really. Now can you please stop worrying and fuck me already?”

Remus chuckled softly to Harry's plea as he pressed the heel of his hand gently into Harry's erection, and leaned forward to claim his mouth again. Harry moaned, arching his hips into the contact at once.

“Your wish is my command,” Remus murmured, eliciting another soft moan from Harry. He slid his hands beneath Harry's thin T-shirt and slowly peeled the fabric away while Harry shifted to help him along. The garment quickly disappeared over Remus's shoulder, and he began to feverishly work at the clasp on Harry's belt.

“Wait,” Harry breathed, and reached for the buttons on Remus's cardigan, “This happens every bloody time. You strip me in ten seconds flat, and you're left fully dressed.” He said as he popped open the buttons, “I want to see you.” Something in Remus's fevered, aroused stare softened, and he leaned in to kiss Harry again, much more tenderly than he had before.

“Then see me.”

Harry's fingers trailed blindly down the front of the garment, popping the buttons open as they kissed, and Remus shrugged out of the garment. He tossed it aside as his tongue begged entrance to Harry's mouth, and Harry began to work blindly on the buttons on the shirt Remus had been wearing beneath the cardigan. Distracted by the heated kiss, Harry's fingers fumbled, almost growling in frustration at the man's habit of wearing _far_ too many layers.

As Harry peeled back the shirt, revealing the fair, scarred flesh beneath, he broke the kiss to press his lips to Remus's clavicle. He trailed his mouth across the jut of bone, and paused over one of the man's many thin scars, trailing his tongue across it while his fingertips ghosted over the others he could not attend to straightaway.

“Harry...” Remus groaned his name, and his cock twitched in response to the sweet sound of the man's voice carrying his name.

Pliant under Harry's gentle ministrations, he eased Remus onto his back and perched his bum over the older man's erection, deliberately shifting in his lap far more than was necessary. Harry bent forward and tended to the thin, opalescent scars that he had so missed seeing during his stint in hospital. His fingers, tongue and lips touched on every thin scar he could find, and he almost whooped in delight at _finally_ being able to touch his partner like this again.

Soft, barely audible moans escaped the werewolf beneath him, his breathing shallow as he reached up to card his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry shivered, his scalp still more sensitive than usual, but Remus did not seem to notice, too lost in the haze of his own arousal. Harry paused his attentions to the older man's chest, and he leant forward to kiss Remus deeply. The kiss dissolved quickly into a tangled mess of tongue, and the sensation was making Harry feel almost dizzy in his overwhelming desire.

Harry reached down at the same moment that Remus did, and they worked feverishly to free their cocks from their confines. Remus's erection sprang into Harry's waiting hand at once, and he could not help but moan into the older man's mouth.

“I _love_ that you never wear pants,” Harry murmured, and Remus chuckled, the warm, throaty laugh making Harry tremble with anticipation. He slipped quickly out of his brown corduroys, while Harry mirrored his movements, his jeans pooling on top of the brown fabric on the floor.

Remus took control, turning to pin Harry beneath him, his arms braced carefully around the younger man to keep him from feeling trapped. He palmed Harry's pink and weeping erection, and Harry arched his back at once, his breath coming out in a hiss as he reached out to rest a hand over Remus's stilling his movements. He broke the kiss and gazed down at Harry with confusion.

“Think we could skip the theatrics tonight?” Harry breathed, “I just...I need you.”

Harry felt a flush creep up his neck at the words, mildly embarrassed at how needy he sounded. Remus did not tease him however, and he leant over Harry's squirming form to dig a small vial of clear liquid from the drawer of their night table. Harry grinned at the sight of it and he was quick to roll over, lifting his arse in the air invitingly. From behind him he heard a low, amused chuckle, and shivered a little when he felt Remus's hand lightly caress his left buttock.

“I wish you could see yourself,” Remus breathed, and Harry could feel his face heat at the words, “you are _so_ beautiful when you're like this.”

Lips and tongue brushed the skin of his arse, and Harry buried his face in the duvet, a soft groan escaping him. It had been far too long, and Harry felt far too sensitive. Paired with the soft-spoken words, Harry was already a trembling mess under Remus's gentle touch.

Harry felt Remus shift behind him, his front pressing lightly into Harry's back as he rested a hand gently against the back of his neck, coaxing Harry's head to the side to expose his flushed face.

“I want to hear you,” Remus murmured, leaning in for a soft kiss before Harry could respond, while a slick finger trailed along the cleft of his arse.

The digit paused at his entrance, teasing the sensitive, puckered flesh and eliciting another moan from Harry. He pressed himself against the finger, his breathing shallow as he tried to focus long enough to speak.

“Remus, God, please, I want you, I _need_ you,” Harry said as his eyes fluttered shut. His breath escaped him in short gasps as the tip of the finger breached the tight ring of muscle, the sensation even more thrilling than usual, given his heightened sensitivity after such a long dry spell.

Harry reached forward blindly and grabbed fistfuls of the coverlet, grunts and moans of pleasure escaping him in equal measure. He no longer cared what he sounded like or what he may look like, just as long as Remus didn't stop. A second finger was quick to join the first, sliding in slow thrusts, gently stretching and preparing him. Harry felt almost impossibly hot, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead while a single droplet trickled down his spine.

Harry whimpered as Remus slipped his fingers from him, but he seemed to understand how much Harry needed this, and wasted no time in lining himself up with Harry, and slowly slid inside.

Remus grunted, pausing once he had fully sheathed himself in his young lover, his arm curled around Harry's waist to hold him still. Harry's back moulded into Remus's chest, and after a brief moment, he offered Remus a short nod of assent.

Remus adjusted his position and slid out of Harry, before thrusting back in just as slowly. Remus picked up his pace gradually while Harry moved fluidly in time with him, short gasps escaping him as Remus's delightfully thick cock brushed Harry's prostate with every alternate thrust.

Harry lifted a hand to his own weeping cock, stroking himself in time with Remus's movements. It took only a few short pulls before Harry's breath hitched, his neck arched, and his arse clenched around Remus, milking an orgasm from the older man while Harry came all over his hand and the bedspread.

The pair fell forward in a mess of flushed, tangled limbs, both gasping as their heart rates slowed back to normal. Ever so slowly, Remus slid his limp member from Harry, rolled off of him, and Remus pulled him into a relaxed embrace. Harry was panting shallowly, and he rolled over to face his partner as he felt the warmth of a cleaning charm tickle across his skin. In the dim evening light, Harry could see that Remus's expression seemed to flicker between concern and satiation.

“What's wrong?” Harry reached up, his fingers brushing along the edge of Remus's jaw, and the older man reached up to cover Harry's hand with his own while he offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“Nothing,” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss Harry lightly, shifting long enough to get them both under the duvet, and Harry perched his chin against Remus's clavicle while he watched the older man.

“You don't have a nothing face,” Harry replied in the same soft tone, “you have a something face.”

“I exhausted you,” Remus said softly, sounding as though he felt terribly guilty about that, while Harry quirked his mouth into a small smile.

“You did, but that's usually what happens when two people go to bed together,” Harry replied, bowing his head to watch his fingertips graze across a few of Remus's scars as he spoke.

“I mean, more than usual,” Remus said, then added in a panicked rush, “I shouldn't have done this, you're still healing, I should have—”

Harry cut Remus's words off with a kiss. His hand moved to cradle Remus's cheek, and when he pulled back the older man still looked uncertain.

“If I really hadn't wanted it, I would have stopped you, you know that. Don't go blaming yourself that I'm a little more tired than usual, it's to be expected after everything that's happened.” Harry paused, easing back a little as he studied his lover's face. “But there's something else bothering you, isn't there?”

“Just thinking about...things,” Remus answered softly after a moment's hesitation. One of his hands reached up to brush through the small curls at the back of Harry's neck, his expression thoughtful, “A lot has happened.”

“You could say that,” Harry said with a soft chuckle, “are you thinking about...your transformation?”

The effect his words had on the older man was instantaneous. He tensed and his expression darkened, but Harry could not fathom why Remus seemed to be so distressed by it.

“Thanks to _The Daily Prophet,_ ” he said at last, _“_ this won't be kept quiet. Other werewolves will have heard by now, and it won't take a genius for them to work out the identity of the werewolf in that article.”

“Is it really so bad that other werewolves find out? I mean, it just means they know that you're strong, right?” Harry asked, smiling a little as he did so. It had taken him an inordinate amount of self-control to keep himself from serenading Remus with a round of the _I Told You So_ symphony, distinctly remembering that he'd said that Remus could probably achieve a transformation outside the full moon several weeks earlier.

Instead of answering, Remus pulled Harry closer, his arm tense around him. Not completely understanding this anxiety, Harry draped his own arm across Remus's abdomen in an effort to show his support. The usual sleepy satisfaction that followed mind-blowing sex with Remus eluded him, and it was a long time before Harry finally managed to fall asleep.


	26. House of Wolves

Chapter 26 – House of Wolves

 

“Moony, I swear to God if you don't knock it off I will put your favourite tea in a silver tin!” Harry griped. The werewolf ignored the threat, and continued nudging Harry down the hall and back to their bedroom. The 'gentle' taps the enormous creature was offering him were powerful enough to make Harry stagger and nearly fall after each one. With a huff, Harry gave up and headed back to the room.

It had been a little over a fortnight since Harry returned home, and Remus had been extremely worried about Harry over-exerting himself. Despite the fact that more than one Healer had told Remus that Harry could go back to his normal routine, he still seemed to be hell-bent on keeping Harry in bed. Not that this was _entirely_ a bad thing, but more often than not it made Harry want to kill the well-meaning werewolf.

Harry flopped back down onto the bed with a grunt, and Moony joined him a moment later, the bed springs protesting ominously to his weight. He walked in a tight circle for several seconds, then lay down with his head resting in the centre of Harry's chest. Harry reached up and threaded his fingers through the thick fur, while Moony huffed a little, shifting slightly to lick the ridge of Harry's hand.

He chuckled softly, remembering the utterly bewildered looks Hermione and Ron had given him when he once described Remus's werewolf form as, ' _kind of like a really big puppy._ ' They had obviously not forgotten their last encounter with Moony, and it was likely that picturing Moony as anything less than a snarling, bloodthirsty beast was a bit of a stretch for them. Aside from the ridiculous over-protectiveness that had come out during this moon, Harry had long since gotten used to Moony, and even enjoyed the werewolf's company. It was vastly different than being with Remus when he was, well, _Remus_ , and it was sometimes difficult to remember that they were in fact the same person.

Harry did not feel even remotely tired despite the late hour, and absentmindedly stroked Moony's thick fur while he tried to will himself to relax. So much had happened recently, Harry was still struggling to keep it all straight in his head.

After being discharged from hospital, Harry had intended to head back to work. Instead, Sahir, his new supervisor, had insisted he take some time off to recuperate physically as well as mentally.

“You went through a terrible ordeal,” Sahir had said impatiently, not even bothering to look in Harry's direction while she spoke. “You need to give yourself some time to heal. Even if you don't _think_ you need it, believe me when I say that you _do_. I have been on this job too long, and I've seen my fair share of breakdowns from Aurors who returned to work too early. Go home, Potter.”

The memory still stung, and his fingers tensed in Moony's fur. It made him feel like some sort of invalid, like a child who couldn't cope with the real world. These feelings were somewhat amplified by Remus's insistence that he take it easy—that is, except for when Remus was pounding him into the mattress. Harry smirked a little at the contradiction, and with a small sigh he tilted his head to the side and tried to get some rest.

  

~*~

  

Harry woke the following morning pinned beneath his lover, who was quite naked, and utterly dead to the world. Pressing his mouth into a thin line to keep from laughing, Harry carefully extricated himself from beneath Remus, and padded barefoot down to the main level to scare up some breakfast.

Following Kreacher's acceptance of Remus as part of Harry's life, the days following the full moon were vastly improved. This came from Kreacher's newfound habit of preparing enormous, well thought-out meals that would help the werewolf replace the energy he'd lost during the night.

This morning was no different. Kreacher met him at the bottom of the stairs whilst carrying a large tray of bacon, sausages, kippers, honeyed ham, crumpets, jam, tea, and toast. Harry grinned when he saw it and relieved Kreacher of his burden, while he mouthed a silent _thank you_ to him. The elf bowed lowly and padded silently back to the kitchen.

Harry did not trust his carrying skills enough to chance carrying the overloaded tray upstairs manually, and drew his wand out from the waistband of his pyjama bottoms to levitate the tray and conduct it carefully back to their bedroom.

By the time he'd returned, Remus had woken up, and was smiling groggily at his young mate.

“Morning,” he murmured, sitting up slowly and stretching, utterly unconcerned by his nudity. Harry bit at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning at the delightful sight of him, and lowered the platter carefully into his free hand. He flicked his wand and conjured a miniature table in the centre of the bed, then carefully set down the platter and rejoined his partner.

Harry leaned in for a rather sloppy kiss before he had even uttered two words, and pulled back with a grin.

“Morning,” he replied at last, leaning back enough to settle in alongside Remus while he took in the werewolf's weary but handsome shape. Remus chuckled in amusement at Harry's rather enthusiastic greeting, and lifted his wand to summon a set of pyjamas, which he pulled on while Harry filled his plate for him.

If nothing else, Harry was grateful that Remus's bodily exhaustion that followed the full moon kept the man from lapsing back into full mother hen mode. It gave Harry the opportunity to show the man than he was more or less back to his old self by taking his turn to tend to Remus as he recovered. Compared to the moons before their kidnapping, it seemed as though Remus was recovering much more quickly than he had before. Harry did not know if Remus noticed this, as he did not carry the strained, constipated look he usually had when something was on his mind, but seemed rather amused by Harry's enthusiastic mothering.

  

~*~

  

“I don't know what to tell you Harry,” Hermione said two days later, sitting across from him in the very back of the Leaky Cauldron, “Creature magic is complex—more complex than wizarding magic at any rate, and couple that with the fact that most sentient creatures do not trust wizards in the slightest it's no surprise that we know next to nothing about it.”

“I just wish I knew what to say, or do, or _something,_ ” he muttered, staring into his tankard of butterbeer, but not drinking it. “I mean, he seems to be healing faster, but any time the spontaneous transformation comes up he looks like somebody's _died_. I don't get it. I thought this would be a good thing.”

“Harry,” Harry looked up at Hermione's softened tone, and he was surprised to see that she looked so sad. He hadn't expected that. “I know that I haven't exactly been your cheerleader these last months, but...it's clear that you love him, and he loves you. But you need to remember who Remus _is_.”

“How d'you mean?” Harry's brow furrowed in confusion, pushing back his joy at Hermione's acceptance of their relationship, _finally._ There would be time enough for that later. Hermione huffed, and got that old, familiar look she'd used to get back at Hogwarts when she'd read a book that he or Ron hadn't.

“Harry, when have you ever known Remus to be accepting of his werewolf side?” Hermione asked, eyes wide as she stared intently at him. “He thinks of himself first and foremost as a wizard, not a werewolf. To him, his Lycanthropy is like...an allergy or something. A disease he has little control over. And now suddenly this happens, vastly strengthening the werewolf in him, his creature magic and healing powers will be stronger, his wolf form is likely bigger—or if it isn't, it's likely to grow over time, and his instincts will be sharper than they used to be. I'd imagine for someone like Remus, he won't be able to see any of that as a _good_ thing.”

“I wish I could do more to help him,” Harry mumbled, looking back down at his glass, “it's complicated because his instincts and all that are sort of running wild after what happened. It's a damn miracle I could get out of the house today to come see you, he's just...really nervous about leaving me on my own.”

“How _did_ you manage it anyway?” There was a tense note in Hermione's voice, which Harry ignored. Since coming home her attitude had begun to shift back to how she had been before _the incident_ , and Harry was certain Ron had had something to do with talking some sense into her.

“I took a leaf out of your book and slipped some sleeping draught into his afternoon tea. I left a note for him so he doesn't freak out when he wakes up,” Harry said, looking up to find that she was smiling, genuinely _smiling_. A half second later however, her eyes filled with tears, and Harry tensed. “What? What did I say?”

“Oh, no,” she sniffled, fanning her eyes and tilting her head up a little, “I'm just...oh Harry, I'm so sorry, I've been a terrible friend to you. Ron was right, but I just...I couldn't get past what he did.”

“It's not like you had no call for it,” Harry said awkwardly, looking around at the other patrons who'd glanced their way when Hermione had begun to get emotional. He dug into his pocket and withdrew a tissue, and handed it to her. She smiled gratefully as she dabbed at her eyes. “I mean, he did... _you know_ , but we're working past it. It's been a weird year.”

“It really has,” she agreed, her eyes flitting over his shoulder for a second before she returned her gaze to him. “But things are going to get better, right? No mad Anti-Werewolf group is hunting you and Remus down, you're with someone you really care about...I think your only concern might be that a werewolf's constitution is a _little_ stronger than your average wizard.”

“What d'you—” but Harry's words were cut short when a pair of strong arms encircled him from behind. The scent and sensation of Remus enveloped him, and he felt his stomach turn over, flushing slightly when a whiskery kiss tickled the crook of his neck. Hermione turned away slightly to give the pair some privacy.

“Contrary to what you might think, you needn't drug me if you need a little space. You just need to _ask,”_ Remus said, though there was a lilt in his voice that told Harry he was struggling to keep himself from re-staking his claim, something that the other patrons would likely not appreciate.

 

It was not until they arrived home twenty minutes later that Remus's self control crumbled, and he pulled Harry tightly against him, devouring his mouth in a rough kiss. Harry tensed a little, alarmed by the suddenness of the action, but some of his panic ebbed when he realized that Remus was trembling.

Remus broke the kiss and buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck, but he did not stop shaking, and clung tightly to the younger man.

“I'm sorry Harry,” he whispered hoarsely, “I don't know what's wrong, I just...I can't control myself as well as I used to.”

Uncertain what to do, he reached around the older man and rubbed his back a little awkwardly while he waited for him to calm down.

“Talk to me,” Harry murmured, while Remus continued to cling to him, though the trembling seemed to have stopped. “Are you angry that I snuck off? Upset?”

“Worried,” Remus murmured, his face still buried in the crook of Harry's neck. “I needed you here.”

Something about Remus's explanation made Harry suspect that he wasn't telling him everything, but for the moment he decided that it might be better to just let it go. Wrapping an arm around his waist, he slowly led Remus from the front hall and into the sitting room. The way he clung to Harry was highly reminiscent of their first encounter after the accidental claim, and he had no idea what to make of it.

Harry eased Remus down onto the sofa, and when he moved to sit next to him, he yelped as an arm shot out and pulled Harry into Remus's lap. The werewolf said something, somewhere between an unintelligible growl and a mumble, and it sounded to him as though Remus was saying, ' _Mine, mine, mine..._ ' over and over. It was a little unsettling, especially after going so many months without this sort of behaviour being that dominant.

Harry had no idea what he could do to help calm Remus's mind. A little nervously, he pressed a hand to Remus's cheek and drew the werewolf's attention to him, then kissed him gently.

“I'm not going anywhere Remus,” Harry murmured against his mouth. “I'm not leaving you, nor am I rejecting you. Sometimes I just need some time to myself.”

At his words, the arms around Harry's waist tightened but the older man did not verbally respond. Harry waited to see if he'd eventually say something, but he never did. Instead, he sat there, holding tightly to Harry, exchanging kisses while he waited for the wolf in Remus's mind to calm.

After almost an hour, Remus's arms around him relaxed, and Harry was able to slip from his lap, though the werewolf still held tightly to him. Harry could not help but feel a little anxious, these displays of dominance used to be rarer, but of late they seemed to be becoming more frequent. Harry did not know what it meant, nor if the spontaneous transformation was to blame, or if it was from something else entirely. Despite the constant reassurances Harry spouted to the man, he still appeared agitated, as if Harry would suddenly disappear if he relaxed his hold on him.

“You're still not well,” Remus said at last, the statement seemingly coming out of nowhere. His words were low and halting, as though human speech was something almost beyond him at the moment. “I...I _need_ to keep you safe. And—I know that you are. Logically, I _know_ that. It's just difficult to keep these instincts under control.”

Harry had no idea what to say. He knew he was fine, but he felt like repeating himself would do little to ease the older man's worries. He kept silent, and allowed himself to be held.

  

~*~

 

After another week of panicked, overprotective werewolf instincts being thrust upon him (both figuratively and literally), at last these impulses seemed to be calming, and Remus did not seem to feel compelled to stick as closely to Harry's side. He was hopeful that that meant things could finally start to go back to normal, but unfortunately, that was when the nightmares started.

It was as though his mind had waited for his body to heal before he even began to deal with what had happened to him on a subconscious level. At first, the dreams were little more than flashbacks to what he'd endured, and each time he'd wake with a cry in his throat, and Remus would hold him until the shaking subsided. As time went on however, the dreams morphed into an endless stream of death scenes involving Remus, while Harry could do nothing but look on helplessly.

Harry never told Remus details of his dreams; it was bad enough experiencing them once, and he refused to go through it a second time. The older man's presence when he woke in a cold sweat with a scream on his lips was enough to calm his frantic heart, and Harry would burrow into the warm embrace gratefully, hoping Remus did not catch the tears in his eyes.

 

The most significant nighttime experience came when he woke the following morning feeling strangely drained, like he'd been performing complicated magic recently, though he could not recall doing anything more straining the night before than a summoning charm for their evening tea tray.

He rolled over, and saw Remus staring at him worriedly, the dark circles under his eyes making him look like he hadn't slept.

“How do you feel?” Remus asked, his voice a little groggier than it usually was in the mornings.

“A little drained, but fine, I guess,” Harry replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“You were sleepwalking last night.”

“Oh, great,” Harry groused, “what happened?”

“I heard a disturbance downstairs at about two in the morning,” Remus said, reaching out to brush his fingers across Harry's bare upper arm. “I turned over and you weren't there, and I went down to find you starkers in the front hall, wand in hand, fiddling with the house's protective wards.”

Harry stared, eyes widening in surprise. It unsettled him that he could remember none of this, though considering he was sleepwalking, that wasn't too surprising. It definitely explained why he felt so sluggish, however.

“Do you know what I was doing?” Harry asked, worried about what he may have done to the magical barriers that kept Grimmauld Place safe.

“Not really unfortunately,” Remus replied with a small frown. “I'm keyed in to the wards, but at its base level it recognizes you as the owner of Grimmauld Place, not me. As far as I can tell, you were attempting to strengthen its secretive charms, but in your state you weren't exactly clear on what you were doing and why. You don't remember what you dreamt, did you?”

Harry did. But he didn't want to have to repeat the horrific things his mind had dreamt up of Red Moon breaking into Grimmauld Place and hurting Remus. His fingers tensed around the edge of the duvet, and shook his head mutely.

 

Whatever Harry had done to the wards, it was like he'd built an impact chamber around the house. Nothing could get in, and it meant all of their post had been delayed while Harry tried to fix what he'd done. They didn't need such heavy protection round the house anymore, and the wards were so strong that he hadn't been able to get even Hermione inside to help him.

They had been careful to put Harry's wand away at bedtime to keep a repeat of his sleepwalker spellcasting from happening. He was grateful Remus was nearby those evenings, as going to bed without his wand near at hand made him feel painfully vulnerable. Remus's presence was like an anchor keeping him grounded; it made him feel protected and safe.

After a week, Harry had managed to lower the wards' defences enough for them leave the house without worrying that they might not be able to find it again. It was a step in the right direction, and Harry prayed that no new drama would crop up any time soon, as he was getting rather tired of this endless stream of unfortunate events.

Harry's nightmares continued. though there had been no more nighttime walks. Unfortunately, the state of his subconscious greatly worried Remus, and he had taken to dogging his steps practically everywhere he went. While he adored the man, it was beginning to drive him mental.

 

One blustery Autumn afternoon, Harry was at the front door pulling a jumper over his T-shirt when Remus predictably appeared out of nowhere. _So much for slipping off quietly,_ he thought as he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning out loud.

“I'm going for a walk,” Harry said before Remus could ask, “I'm a little restless, and just need to clear my head a little.” Harry moved for the door, and Remus mirrored his movements. At once Harry lifted a hand to stop him. “ _Alone._ ”

Remus looked as though Harry was asking him to cut off his own arm, and he sighed, trying to ignore the low thrum of guilt the expression on the man's face caused him. That wounded puppy look almost broke his heart. He stepped back from the door, and stepped over to his lover.

“Remus, I love you,” Harry said as he placed his hands on the older man's shoulders and lifted himself onto his toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “But there are no threats beyond this door that I cannot handle, Red Moon is gone, I'm safe— _we're_ safe. I just need a little time to myself, all right?”

Harry looked up into Remus's eyes and waited patiently for a response. He wasn't certain he completely believed his own words, and while all evidence pointed to the contrary, it was still hard to believe that Red Moon was well and truly gone. At last, Remus sighed defeatedly and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist to draw him close.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss Harry lightly. He pulled back and rested his forehead against the younger man's. “The bond is pushing my instincts into a deep need to protect, given all that's happened recently.”

“I know,” Harry smiled a little and kept still in the embrace; he always loved it when Remus held him like this. “Think you could handle half an hour without me?”

Fleetingly, Harry wondered if he was being unfair to Remus, wanting to leave when the bond was still a little shaky from what they'd endured. However, Harry also knew that if he was stuck in the house for much longer, it was likely that he would hex his delightful partner into next week.

“I'll survive,” Remus said with a small smile, brushing his lips against Harry's one last time. His tone made it sound as though the idea of letting Harry go was more difficult than he was willing to admit, but he let him go all the same, and Harry hurried out of the door before his guilt could convince him to stay.

  

The square was clogged with children running and playing, with the parents in their gardens looking on with varying levels of protective concern. Harry wove carefully through the throng of ankle-biters and made his way down the street, his hands crammed into his jeans pockets. The amount of children on the street thinned as Harry moved, and he ducked into the park opposite from Number Nine, which was curiously empty of children.

The park was old, and could easily have been the backdrop to a horror film. Ancient chain swings, creaking metal roundabout, and small copse of trees on a field of green, with the skeletal remains of a football goal in the distance.

Harry sat down on one of the swings, dug his heels into the grass, and swung lightly as he rested his head against the chain handle. He stared off into the distance as he allowed his mind to wander.

For close to a year, his life had been overwhelmed by the bond with Remus. Harry still struggled with the pleasant surprise at how everything had worked out; never in his life had he thought he'd find such happiness with someone like Remus. He and Ginny had gone back to a tenuous, but mending friendship, and with Nott at her side, as strange as _that_ was to get his head around, she seemed genuinely happy for herself, and for him. Harry smiled; life had a strange way of working itself out.

A sudden snapping of twigs from behind him jerked Harry from his daze of thoughts. He jumped up and spun around, his wand in his hand in an instant, but stopped short when he saw who it was.

The huge hulking mass of Fenrir Greyback slipped from the trees, but stood carefully out of sight of the street. He took another step forward while Harry held his ground, eyeing Greyback suspiciously as he approached. The wind whipped around them, blowing Greyback's silvery hair back and away from his face, and the months free seemed to have done him a world of good. His skin was no longer waxy and sallow, but tan and healthy. If possible, he seemed to be even _bigger_ than before, his vast muscle mass making it look like he could uproot an adult oak tree without breaking a sweat.

“Potter,” the low growl of the werewolf's voice caused the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end, and he swallowed nervously. Even with their truce, the man's pseudo-reputation preceded him, and as such made Harry more than a little nervous.

“Greyback,” Harry returned, with a small nod of his head. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Greyback hesitated at Harry's words, and he watched the werewolf reach into his leather jacket and draw out a parchment envelope, with some sort of strange sigil on it. At first, Harry thought it was ink, but a closer look made Harry realize that it had been drawn in blood.

“We had attempted to contact your mate by your owl post,” he began, toying with the envelope in his hands, while keeping his eyes fixed on Harry. The ice blue stare paired with the werewolf's words amplified Harry's unease. Why was Greyback trying to contact Remus? “But our owls seemed unable to locate your home. It was most perplexing. I took it upon myself to track you both to London, but the scent becomes...confused when I reach this area.”

Harry swallowed a laugh that had bubbled up at the back of his throat. Of course Greyback would never admit to failing in a task, but Harry wasn't brave enough to point that out to him. Fortunately, he had a feeling he knew what the problem was.

“Our wards went a little wonky recently,” Harry said, “That would likely be why your owls can't find us—er, him.”

To the explanation, Greyback was silent for several moments while he eyed Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry had the distinct, familiar sensation of being x-rayed, but it was much more unsettling coming from Greyback compared to Dumbledore.

“Given your history, Potter, I believe you are trustworthy enough for me to ask you to deliver this to your mate,” he held out the envelope, and Harry reached out to take it. It was fairly thin and light, but whatever it contained was clearly of great importance to the infamous werewolf.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry nodded once, “I'll make sure he gets it.”

“Tell him he can send his response by owl, if he wishes,” Greyback said with a grunt, then spun on his heel and strode away before Harry could respond, and disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

Harry looked down to the envelope in his hands. It was entirely nondescript, save for Remus's name scrawled across the front in messy print. Harry flipped it over, and over the envelope's seal was a design, in blood, as Harry had noted earlier. After a moment of staring at it, Harry recognized it as the Feoh rune, and he was suddenly thankful for Hermione's insistence that she teach both him and Ron basic Ancient Runes when they'd first joined the Auror Corps.

Harry looked back to the road, his walk cut much shorter than he had intended, given that whatever this was about, it seemed important. Harry could not explain why, even to himself, but holding the letter in his hands he felt a deep sense of foreboding settle over him. He took a steadying breath to dismiss his worries, and made for home.

 

“That was quick,” Remus remarked as Harry stepped inside, standing up from the overstuffed armchair in the sitting room in one fluid motion and crossed over to Harry. He cradled his cheek in his hand and pulled him in for a tender kiss.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his breath tickling across Harry's slightly parted lips. He shivered, and felt that familiar sensation of being entirely enveloped in Remus's presence, like nothing bad could possibly happen now that he was near. The sensation threatened to completely overwhelm him, and he shook his head a few times in an effort to focus.

“Something, er, came up and I needed to come back earlier than I planned,” Harry tried for nonchalance, but the tremor in his tone was not missed by Remus, whose brow furrowed with concern.

“Greyback found me, he, er, wanted me to give you this,” Harry held up the letter nervously, and the hand that had been resting upon the centre of his back slid away as he took the letter from Harry, and the crease of his brow deepened with both curiosity and clear trepidation. With his eyes still on the envelope he now held, he reached out blindly for Harry's hand, and the pair headed for the sitting room in tense silence.

Remus sat down on the sofa with Harry at his side while he slit the envelope and shook the letter open. Harry watched his partner nervously as his eyes zipped right and left across the page, his expression shifting from curiosity to surprise rather quickly.

“What is it?” Harry asked tentatively as Remus's eyes stopped moving, but stared at the letter as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

“It's...Greyback...he...” Remus grasped at straws, clearly trying to work through the shock to verbalize the contents of the letter. He looked up and met Harry's gaze with wide eyes, “He's formally invited me to join his pack.”

 

To Be Continued... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So ends book one. I hope you guys enjoyed it! This fic took a helluva lot out of me, and I'm going on a one-month hiatus. I am not one to abandon my fics, and I WILL be back with book two, Moonstruck, in good time. I'm hoping I won't be MIA for more than a month/month and a half, but we'll see. Those of you who have read my other long work, The Stag and The Snake know that I have the self-control of a bag of hammers, but this time I mean it, because I have almost none of book two written as of right now. xD 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, kudo, bookmark, or subscribe to this story. I know I'm utter shite at responding to comments, but I read every single one and they always warm my heart and help encourage me to write. 
> 
> This is not to say that I will be poofing for a whole month or so. Along with the sequel I have a number of other fics in the works, and as I finish them, they'll be going up.
> 
> Special S/O to my braintwin KuriQuinn for putting up with me gibbering nonstop about this damn story for the last five months, even though it falls into the realm of a NoTP for you. (If you guys are into T-rated Naruto stories, definitely check her out on AO3 and FF.net. She's a brilliant writer.) 
> 
> Also thank you to Linda, for the same reasons, and allowing me to spam you with questions and requests for feedback at least once a day. Both of you rule.
> 
> Thank you all again so much for being so enthusiastic about this story, this isn't the most popular ship out there, and I had no idea it would be so well-received. I'm both thrilled and humbled by it, and I hope you guys will enjoy where I wind up taking the story. 
> 
> See you all soon with book two!  
> James  
> xox


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